


Time After Time

by GhostKid



Category: Pentatonix, SUP3RFRUIT
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-01-19 03:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 38,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1454170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostKid/pseuds/GhostKid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time after time, it's always the same for Mitch. He needs something different, something new. But does the new have to be unfamiliar? Is what he's really looking for closer than he thinks?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Night

Mitch's eyes were salty waterfalls as he collapsed onto the couch, pressing his face into a cushion to muffle his heaving sobs. His body shook violently, the events building up to the emotional overload playing through his mind. He could only remember phrases that were crushing him, words that cut deep into his heartbroken core. He had heard all of these words before, though; they had been repeated time after time by man after man, ex boyfriends that always strayed, never stayed and would beat Mitch down with words or fists, whichever happened to be easier. Every break up was messy, and every time, Mitch would react in the same way. Carbon copies of heartbreak, pushing people away, solitude was always in style. He'd push away those he loved, including Scott (especially Scott) and withdraw himself from the world that could happily continue without him. Mitch’s body continued to tremble harshly as his tears continued to pour from his now-sore brown eyes. The late night continued on, not waiting for him, or for anyone else. Other people would sleep peacefully through the lonely night. Scott was tucked safely away in his room, asleep, so innocent and unaware as Mitch continued to bawl into the pillow, his smothered sobs continuing on as the words replayed in the countertenor's brain.

“Nobody loves you.”  
“No one even likes you.”  
“You're fat.”  
“You're ugly.”  
“I never loved you.”  
“You can’t sing.”  
“I only wanted the sex.”  
“You're a slut.”  
“Nobody loves you.”

Mitch's already tired body quickly grew more lethargic and his sobs came to a halt as he finally fell asleep, granting him some respite from the blur of confusion in his mind.


	2. A New Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott wants nothing more than to take Mitch's pain away.

When the cold morning flew in, a groggy Scott rose from his bed, yawning. He could vaguely recall hearing Mitch come home late the previous night, so he tiptoed around his room, gathering items that he then used to clothe his tall frame and he finished his outfit with a carefully selected snapback. He quietly opened his bedroom door and made his way into the living room, where he audibly gasped at what he saw. Awkwardly chewing on his bottom lip, Scott stood still, all too aware of what the sight implied. Mitch was sprawled across the couch, face down and sound asleep. If it weren’t for the uncomfortable position in which the countertenor was sleeping, he would have seemed almost peaceful. However, Scott knew that Mitch, in his slumber, was anything but at peace. He let his mind drift, allowing himself to imagine what Mitch may have been told this time, by this man, but the thoughts made him feel uncomfortable. He hated picturing situations. He didn’t want his brain to visualise every single way that someone can break up with another human being, especially not when Mitch was involved. He didn’t want to know what had been said to Mitch, but, at the same time, he did. He wanted to know so that he could feel a little more at ease. 

Pulling himself from his racing thoughts, Scott began to creep towards the younger man, and felt his heart shatter and break for the fragile form as he did so. He knew that when Mitch awoke, he'd have to do everything he possibly could to distract the countertenor, whose fingers were tightly gripping the cushion that his face was resting upon. Scott knelt down in front of where his best friend slept and watched with a concerned expression as he saw Mitch's face screw up in pain. Scott moved his large hand to his own face to wipe away a tear that had fallen from his blue eyes. Knowing that Mitch was in pain hurt him too. He knew that, due to the events, the dark haired man would push him away, would shut him out and that left Scott feeling useless. The only thing that the blonde wanted to do was to help the smaller man, but he'd be lucky to be allowed such an opportunity.

Sighing deeply, Scott climbed to his feet and, casting another glance back at Mitch, he made his way into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He was hungry, and he knew that Mitch, when he awoke, would be ravenous. The countertenor loved food, and would be especially starving if he had spent most of the night unable to sleep as he was crying. As Scott prepared their breakfast, he felt his eyes begin to leak again. All he wanted to do was to protect his friend, to keep him safe. Closing his eyes, Scott focused on his breathing, not allowing his thoughts to stray from inhale, exhale. After a couple of minutes, he felt composed enough to open his eyes and so he continued to chop the fruits that he had in front of him. Deeming there to be enough fruit, he divided them equally into two bowls and then placed them in the refrigerator. The tall man then grabbed his keys, before creeping through the apartment, past the sleeping Mitch, and leaving. The short journey to Starbucks was spent listening to his iPod, Beyoncé’s voice playing though large white headphones as the blonde was terrified of allowing his imagination to run the way it wanted to again - wild, free and full of upsetting images. He bought two coffees and two pastries (gluten-free for Mitch) and made his way back home.  
Upon his return to the apartment, he noticed that the couch had been vacated and the pillows had been scattered across the room. Nothing appeared to have been broken, luckily, but the older man was almost certain that they had been thrown intentionally. Mumbling to himself, Scott darted into the kitchen and set out both men's breakfasts before taking a deep breath and calling out to Mitch.

"Mitch! I've got you breakfast," Mitch's bedroom door opened and the brunette walked out, shoulders slumped, cheeks tearstained. He wandered into the kitchen as Scott took his place at their small dining table and the shorter man sat down robotically on his chair. He ate slowly, taking minuscule bites as Scott watched with a sad smile. "I'm sorry," the blonde tried, but Mitch didn't even look up; he kept his red-rimmed eyes focused on the food that was set in front of him. Scott nodded to himself and ate his own breakfast, unsure of how to act. He was all too aware that this could potentially go on for weeks and he didn’t know if he could bear it. Scott, after only an hour of being awake with his now-silent best friend, already felt alone.


	3. Pain on a Plate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had to ignore him, no matter how much it hurt.

Mitch picked idly at his breakfast, his stomach craving the food that was in front of him despite how sick he felt. He was almost certain that if he ate the delicious pastry that Scott had bought for him, he would end up kneeling over the toilet bowl and he couldn’t handle that. He was stressed out enough as it was. His face was tight and his eyes were painful from the tears he’d shed both the previous night and that morning and his thoughts were scattered and incoherent; a grey fog that flooded into masses of black and white. A voice from outside of the fog, outside of his mind, spoke kindly, quietly, a ray of color in the darkness, but Mitch could find no way to respond. How he could he? He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to think about it. And he certainly didn’t want to talk about it with Scott Hoying. Why didn’t Scott understand? Why didn’t he realise?

Mitch sluggishly reached for his coffee, the cup instantly warming his cold hands, which caused him to sigh in a mixture of pleasure and relief. He drank the hot beverage quickly, and then pulled a face at the food that he hadn’t eaten. He shook his head, feeling too nauseous to consider trying to consume any more, and silently excused himself from the table. He headed back to his bedroom, petting Wyatt on the way. The Sphynx cat purred as Mitch’s hand touched his head, and then meowed when the countertenor pulled his hand away and walked into his room.

Shutting the door to prevent the cat from entering, Mitch let out a large sigh, relieved to have made it through the awkward meal. Tears began to burn in his brown orbs again, so the brunette pressed his palms into his eyes in an attempt to halt the flow that was trying to begin. The dam burst and Mitch let out a loud sob, sinking to the floor, back pressed against the door. He brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them as his body trembled violently. He babbled incoherent words to himself as he cried, insulting himself over and over again. He hated himself for being such a pathetic, useless mess. It wasn’t a surprise that everyone cheated on him, nor was it a surprise that everyone broke up with him. How could anyone love someone so small and fat and ugly? Why did Scott even continue to try to be friends with him? Scott was so talented but Mitch... Mitch felt that he had no talents. His body shook harder as the liquid streamed down his face. His body ached, his heart hurt. He just wanted it to stop. The grey fog turned black as Mitch’s sobs grew louder. He just wanted it all to stop. A knock on his bedroom door ripped through the fog, startling the small man.

“Mitch, I know you don’t want to talk, but I’m here if you need me, okay? I can hear you, and I’m worried,” a voice – Scott’s voice – said. Mitch felt like he’d been punched in the stomach by a fistful of guilt; he could hear that the blonde had been crying. Mitch hung his head down, feeling ashamed of being at fault for his best friend’s tears. He wasn’t worth crying over. The countertenor tried to force these sentences out, but he couldn’t form the words. He managed to stammer out a few syllables before breaking down again, gasping for breath with wet pouring from his brown eyes. He wanted to talk to Scott. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t be near Scott, no matter how hard it was to stay away. He had to ignore him, no matter how much it hurt. The brunette could hear that the other man was still stood behind the door, and he involuntarily found himself visualising the older man’s face, tearstained and pained. Mitch cried harder at this mental image. He didn’t want to hurt Scott. Quivering, he pushed part of his fist into his mouth to prevent himself from making any noise and waited, silent tears pouring from his eyes, until Scott had walked away.

Mitch, unsure of whether he could stand, removed his hand from his mouth, the taste making him feel more ill, and took a deep breath. Still shaking, and with next to no composure, the countertenor forced himself to his feet and stumbled across his room to his bed. Setting himself down on it and crawling under the covers, Mitch curled up into fetal position. He felt protected by the warm blankets that were smothering his aching limbs and, although it could not change the aching in his heart, it made him feel a little more at ease. Mitch lay there for a while, crying silently as his shaking gradually subsided. After a couple of hours, sleep smothered him, taking him away from the grey clouds in his mind.


	4. A Helping Hand

Scott was sitting on the couch with Wyatt asleep in his lap, staring disinterestedly at the TV with red rimmed eyes. Watching Spongebob wasn’t as much fun without Mitch. The blonde cast a quick glance in the direction of the other man’s bedroom and sighed. He hadn’t heard Mitch’s sobs for a few hours or so now, which filled him with a mixture of relief and dread. He wanted to make sure that the smaller man was okay, but he was too afraid. What if Mitch really wasn’t okay? What if Mitch had done something stupid? With tears in his eyes, Scott picked up the cat, startling the Sphynx, and hugged him close to his chest. Scott couldn’t allow himself to think of the possibilities. After a few minutes of crying into Wyatt’s back, Scott finally felt that he had regained enough composure to check on his best friend. Setting the hairless cat down beside him, Scott rose to his feet and headed towards Mitch’s bedroom as Spongebob laughed in the background.

Not bothering to knock, Scott cautiously opened the door and looked inside. Mitch was asleep in his bed, thrashing wildly, crying silent tears. Time stopped for a moment as Scott watched in horror as Mitch fell from the bed, awaking almost instantly with a deafening scream. After racing to the countertenor’s side, Scott knelt down beside him. Mitch looked up at him with fearful brown eyes that threatened to overflow, his bottom lip quivering.  
“Let’s help you back into bed, okay?” Scott whispered soothingly, reaching out a hand. Mitch slapped it away, shaking his head violently as he sat up and pushed himself backward, creating a larger distance between the pair. Scott tried again, moving closer to his friend, who in return moved himself away. Sighing in defeat, Scott climbed to his feet and walked towards the door, “I hate seeing you like this, Mitchie,” he whispered as he left, fresh tears burning in his eyes. One day. It had been one day. Scott felt as if his heart would break. He sent a text to Kirstie in which he practically begged his friend to come to his apartment. Scott found himself smiling slightly when she informed him that she’d be there within an hour, and moved back to his space on the couch with Wyatt.

Forty minutes passed and Kirstie knocked at the door and was promptly let in by Scott, whose face still showed evidence of the tears he’d shed. Kirstie had concern etched over her pretty face as soon as she caught a glimpse of Scott’s eyes, which he had attempted to hide by staring at the floor.  
“What’s wrong?” she asked, frowning slightly as Scott closed the door behind her. He was glaring holes into the floor, so the long haired woman reached a gentle hand up to lift his chin. Her expression fell further as she was able to take in the sight of Scott’s face, who forced his eyes shut as she stared.  
“Mitch. Mitch he- he and now- I-,” Scott stuttered out as he broke down. A worried Kirstie watched as Scott allowed himself to fall back against the wall behind him, leaning his weight on it as he covered his face with his hands. The dark eyed woman opened her mouth to say something, then changed her mind and opted for a different approach.  
“Is Mitch okay?” she finally said, reaching a hand out to touch her friend’s arm.  
“I told him- I told him that he wasn’t the one- that h-he was like the rest,” Scott forced out through sobs. Kirstie bit her lip, and then took a deep breath.  
“Do you know what happened?”  
“He’s shutting me out again, Kirst. I don’t – I don’t know what to do,” Scott cried. Kirstie hugged the tall man, murmuring soothing words to him as he cried.  
“Do you want me to try talking to him?” she whispered, glancing up at the blonde, who nodded. 

She pulled away and headed towards the room she knew belonged to Mitch. Carefully, she opened the door and her eyes fell upon the shaking heap that was collapsed on the bed. She shut the door behind her, all too aware that the brunette man would not speak with her without privacy. “Mitch?” she spoke quietly to the younger man as she approached him. He turned to face her.  
“I suppose Scott sent you?” he questioned, his voice hoarse.  
“No, I came around to keep him company – he’s a mess without you, you know? And I think you need him too,” Kirstie said softly, perching herself awkwardly on the edge of her friend’s bed.  
“He’d be better without me,” Mitch whispered, barely audible, but the words still reached the long haired woman’s ears. She reached out her hand and took hold of one of Mitch’s trembling hands.  
“We both know that’s not true. Well all need you, Mitch. Push me away; push everyone else away, but stay close to Scott? Please?” Kirstie was practically begging. Mitch took a deep breath.  
“I can’t, Kirst. You know I can’t,”  
“You love him,” she said simply.  
“I know.”


	5. Old Memories

Mitch’s eyelids fluttered open, his body aching from the uncomfortable position in which he had slept in. Slowly pushing himself upright, he looked around his room and stopped when he finally noticed the sunlight pouring in through the window. Exhaling deeply, he took a look at the watch that he was still wearing. It was almost ten o’clock, which meant he must have been asleep for about a full fourteen hours. He couldn't help but be surprised; he usually struggled to get more than a few hours sleep at once. He stared blankly at the wall in front of him, replaying the past few days in his mind. The tears that had rained from his eyes the previous day began to form, but did not escape. The countertenor suddenly remembered the conversation that he’d had with Kirstie the previous afternoon, and brought his hands to his mouth, feeling overwhelmed by strong anxiety. He felt nauseous. A few tears fought free from Mitch’s brown eyes and dripped pathetically down his face. Had Kirstie told Scott? How could he face her? How could he face him? Covering his entire face with his hands, the brunette finally allowed himself to cry properly. He’d surely ruined everything with his stupidity. How could he be so dumb as to fall in love with his best friend? And why the fuck had he mentioned it? He was stupid idiot - a stupid useless idiot and he hated it. He hated himself.

Minutes, or possibly hours passed, and Mitch finally lifted his head from his hands. His neck ached, his face was tight and his eyes burned, but the leakage had finally slowed to a halt. Looking down at himself, he quickly realized he’d been wearing the same clothes for about a day and a half, and felt instantly disgusted. He forced himself from his position on his bed, grabbed some fresh clothes and headed to the shower. Removing his shirt, he winced at the sight of his body which was still bruised from fists that had landed on his torso and arms. _At least he didn't touch my face_ , Mitch thought, suddenly relieved that he had been able to hide the damage. He looked a mess. He removed his pants, socks and underwear before stepping into the shower and turning on the water.

The warm droplets rained down on the small man’s bruised body, washing away the salty tears that had once again begun to form in his eyes. He looked down, and found himself drawn to the dozens of lines that marked his thighs, old wounds that once leaked the way his eyes did. He touched them gently, fondly, remembering those high school days of torture, and the endless nights he spent alone and afraid. Suddenly frowning, he realized that he was unconsciously considering it again. Shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of the thoughts, he grabbed some soap and began to wash his battered body. He couldn't go back to any of that. He couldn't. Scott would be so upset if he did, and Mitch knew that, although he couldn't talk to Scott, he wasn't going to hurt him- or at least something similar to that. Mitch sighed as shower washed away the next lot of salty teardrops that fell. He was so confused. Nothing made sense to him, and he hated it.

His legs grew weaker as he sobbed harder, so he allowed himself to sink to the floor. The water dropped down onto him like a stormy rain cloud that was meant only for him. He almost laughed at the comparison; it described the mess in his head perfectly. He sat there for a while, shivering despite the hot water that was running down his skin, and he reminded himself of the rules he had set. There could be no exceptions, not any excuses – it was how things had to go. Mitch detested the rules he had as they made no sense – he wanted to talk to Scott. But there was a right time and a wrong time, and some small, stupid part of Mitch’s brain clearly felt this was the wrong time and wouldn't let him speak. It was harder to ignore the blonde than it was to spend time with him. The brunette ran his fingers over a few of the bruises he’d received and sighed. He couldn't talk to anyone until after they’d faded a little, he decided. Not even Kirstie. And once they were gone, he would be less afraid off people finding out, and so then he could begin to live the way he usually did, right? Growing tired of his brain’s confusing arguments, he clumsily pulled himself to his feet, almost slipping over as he did so, and then shut of the water. He stepped out of the shower and dried himself off before clothing himself and heading back to his bed.

He sat there for a few minutes, and then sneaked a glance at the clock. 2 o’clock – he’d been in the shower for almost four hours. Mitch leaned back and rested his head on his pillow, his face decorated with disbelief and tears, and concentrated on his breathing. He wanted to sleep again, even though he didn't feel like it. He lethargically moved his hands to wipe his eyes before rolling over and snuggling into his bed.

Meanwhile, Scott was resting on the sofa, eyes closed, thinking about the previous twenty four hours. Kirstie hadn't told him what Mitch had said, despite how hard he'd begged. Was it really such a crime to want to know how his best friend was? Scott sighed and slowly opened his eyes, the afternoon's sunlight causing him to squint. Wyatt was parading around the room, sassy as ever, and Scott couldn't help but think of how much Mitch must be missing Wyatt. He sat up slowly, his eyes still adjusting to the unfamiliar light, and he stood up. He hadn't really bothered getting dressed that morning - he hadn't felt like it - and was only wearing a hooded sweatshirt and a pair of boxer briefs. Kneeling down, he picked up the cat from the floor and made his way over to the shorter man's room. The blonde didn't want Mitch to be alone. He set Wyatt down on his friend's bed, and the cat quickly curled up beside the countertenor and snuggled down. With a small smile, Scott left the room, unaware that Mitch hadn't been asleep, even though it had seemed as though he was.

After the blonde had left the room, Mitch let out a shaky breath. He knew for certain now that what he'd confessed to Kirstie was true; there was no way he could deny it to himself anymore. Despite knowing the extent of his feelings for Scott for a few years now, he'd never allowed himself to truly sit and think about it all. Perhaps this was why his brain wanted him to ignore the taller man? Mitch found himself growing gradually more confused. Being awake had given him a headache – his thoughts were racing around, flying at the speed of light like an unstoppable force of pain and misery. His clothes – sweatpants and an old baggy t-shirt – felt far too tight, almost as if they were smothering him. His body still ached, his heart felt as though it had been stabbed. He hated break ups. It wasn't just the heartbreak that he hated, no – it was the way they made him act. His mind swirled around again, growing grey and cloudy, just as it had before. He hated men and the way they confused him, the way they used him... abused him. He stared down at his clothed body, glad that it was covered. Those men were right. He was fat, he was ugly, and he certainly couldn't sing. No one would ever love him truly, especially not Scott. Scott probably didn't even care, at least not truly. He let out a sob and felt his eyes overflow again as he wrapped his arms around Wyatt. He lay there, shaking violently, for a while until, eventually, sleep washed over him.


	6. Apologies in a Notebook

The clock read 23:59, and Scott was staring blankly at the ceiling above him. If this were a typical day, he’d be out on the couch watching Spongebob with Mitch, but it wasn’t a typical day, so instead he was attempting to sleep. All he could think about was how much he missed Mitch’s smile, Mitch’s sassiness, Mitch’s complaining – he just missed Mitch. He missed the brunette a lot, and it hurt. He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it a little as his pulled his hand away before releasing a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. The silence that filled the room was uneasy, and Scott knew he wouldn’t be sleeping much – if at all – that night. He looked in the direction of his friend’s bedroom and allowed himself to wonder how the countertenor was holding up. _I hope he’s asleep_ , Scott thought, staring at the wall. 

The deafening silence wore on, and so Scott began to hum quietly to himself but quickly regretted the decision. A few tears dripped down from his eyes and strolled lazily down his cheeks. Singing, humming, laughing, smiling... none of it felt right without Mitch. The blonde sighed and turned over in his bed, pulling the blanket up a little further. The blanket suffocated all of the cold from Scott’s body, but also drained him of all movement. Paralyzed by overwhelming fear, Scott broke down. What if, this time, Mitch didn’t recover? What if they never spoke to one another again? What if Mitch started to hurt himself again? Gasping for breath, Scott pulled the blanket over his face and allowed the fabric to mop up the tears he was crying. Scott needed Mitch to know Mitch was okay. No. No, Scott just needed Mitch. He didn’t understand why, but nothing felt right without the shorter man. It was all so foreign. He’d felt it before, each of the previous times Mitch had shut himself away like this, but he never seemed to recall the emotion when the pair were together. He cried awhile longer until the tears subsided, which left him feeling empty, yet weighed down by thoughts that still dashed around his mind. 

Tired of trying to find sleep, the blonde sat up and pulled on a pair of sweatpants before making his way to the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of wine and grabbed a tub of ice-cream before settling down in front of the television. He watched various shows with disinterest as he was intentionally avoiding anything he truly loved. He didn’t want to be reminded of Mitch. Mitch... he didn’t want to think about Mitch’s jokes and his flirting and his sass. Tears began to well up in Scott’s eyes, and the rest of that bottle of wine grew more and more tempting as each second flew by. Relenting at last, he stood up and poured himself a second glass before tipping the rest of the bottle into the sink. He didn’t trust himself to be left alone with his temptation – he always caved. He drank the liquid, and then walked back over to the tub of ice-cream that he’d left unguarded on the couch. He shook his head when he saw a small, hairless body sticking out of the container. Mitch must’ve let Wyatt out at some point. With a quiet chuckle, he took the frozen treat away from the cat, which meowed in disappointment, and tossed the tub in the trash. He petted the Sphynx, and then tiptoed to his bedroom. The blonde left the door open slightly, allowing Wyatt the option of sleeping in his room if the cat wished to. Scott sat down on the edge of his bed and ran his hands through his hair a few times before resting his chin on his fists. He took a deep breath to try to halt the flood of thoughts that were threatening to return when an idea popped into his head. He needed to make sure that he could never forget how it felt to be ignored by Mitch if they became close again. He needed to learn to appreciate Mitch more. The tall blonde stood up and walked over to a set of drawers in his room and opened the second. He pulled out his old journal, and then shut the drawer before taking a pink pen from his desk. He sat, cross-legged, on his bed and began to write.

_Future Scott,_  
 _This is a warning to you. You need to look after Mitch and protect him. You have to make sure that he is happy and you have to be there for him. These are things you must prevent:_  
 _1\. Breakups – yes, you mustn’t let him date. None of them are right for him. They’ll only fuck him up._  
 _2\. Unhappiness – you mustn’t let him be sad. Joke with him, watch Spongebob together, cuddle Wyatt._  
 _3\. Pain – you mustn’t let him get hurt. This includes self inflicted pain. Note that if he wants to date someone or do something you dislike, you must let him (which defeats point one) because he mustn’t hurt._  
 _4\. Forgetting – you must not forget how much it hurts to be away from him. That way you’ll be able to appreciate him more.  
5\. _

Scott stared at the now-wet page, tears pouring from his eyes once again. His eyelids felt heavy, so he set the book and pen at the foot of the bed, deciding to continue the list in the morning, and crawled into bed. Sleep captured him within minutes, taking him away to dreams where he and Mitch were happy.

When the blonde awoke the next morning, he stretched his legs out and immediately his foot hit something hard. Rubbing his face in an effort to both wake himself up and to dispel his confusion, Scott sat up and looked down at the book. He read it over, perplexed, and broke down in tears when his eyes fell upon the fifth point.

_5\. You should probably prevent Mitch from reading this. If, somehow, he has read it, he’ll probably want you to know that he’s sorry.  
Also, don’t cry, Scottie. It’s okay._


	7. Opening Eyes

Mitch had awoken at around four in the morning and decided to get some food - just a small snack - when he noticed that Scott's door was slightly ajar. He grabbed a few small items from various cupboards and ate them, trying not to think about how much weight he would probably gain. Despite his negative thoughts, he was genuinely grateful that he no longer felt quite so lightheaded. He had caught sight of the empty bottle of wine that was set on the counter, and felt immediately uncomfortable. Glancing over at his friend’s room, he washed his small meal down with a mug of coffee. Mitch had found himself drawn to Scott's room like a magnet. Missing his friend and unable to see how visiting Scott when he was asleep could break any of his strict rules, he gently nudged the blonde's bedroom door open further, and peered inside. Scott was asleep, curled up in his blankets, which brought a small smile to Mitch's lips. Light poured in from beyond the door, illuminating the taller man's attractive features.

As the brunette tiptoed closer to his best friend, he noticed the tear stain on Scott's face. The countertenor bit his lower lip as he felt his eyes well up. He was hurting Scott. He was really hurting Scott. Mitch sighed and went to sit at the foot of the bed when he noticed the open book. Mitch, filled with curiosity, read through the page. He felt both uncomfortable and flattered – Scott really did care about him. The shorter man fiddled with the flimsy paper, noticing the way the page had been distorted by what Mitch could only presume where Scott’s tears. Feeling guilty, Mitch picked up the pen, and wrote the only thing he could think of – an apology. He’d left soon after, and had crept back into his own room, where he quickly found sleep, without finding tears.

When he next opened his eyes, at around midday, the realization of what he’d done hit him like a ton of bricks. Instantly confused, the countertenor sat up and let out a long string of expletives. Why the fuck had done that? How was writing in Scott’s diary a good idea? There was no way he was meant to see what the blonde had scrawled, so Scott would surely be annoyed. Mitch rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. He was such an idiot. He was a stupid fucking idiot with no common sense that always behaved irresponsibly and could never deal with even the smallest amount of temptation. Exhaling deeply, he climbed out of his bed and hunted around his room for some fresh clothes. He needed to get out of the apartment for a bit – he couldn't deal with being near Scott, not after the dumb stunt he’d pulled. Pairing a plaid shirt with some dark jeans, he pulled on his creepers and reached for a beanie. _Semi-presentable will do, right?_ he thought as he grabbed his keys, his wallet and his phone and left. As soon as he had sat in his car, it dawned on him that he had no idea where he was planning on heading to. Suddenly, Mitch was terrified – he was alone and vulnerable. What if someone hurt him? What if he ran into one of his (many) exes? What if, what if, what if. The questions filled up his brain and that grey cloud quickly returned. Close to tears, Mitch picked up his phone and called Kirstie, who answered almost instantly.

“Hey,”  
“Hey. How’re you doing? Any better?”  
“I don’t know. I think I did something stupid last night, and now I can’t be near Scott. I was going to go out somewhere, but... I-I don’t know where to go,” Mitch broke down again. He was so sick of crying, but nothing made him feel happy. Nothing but-  
“Where are you?”  
“In my car; I haven’t left yet,”  
“Stay there. I’ll pick you up in ten, okay?” Kirstie said before hanging up, not giving the countertenor a chance to respond. Mitch rested his head on the car’s wheel and cried quietly. He was such a mess. The time passed without Mitch realizing, as he was snatched from his viscous thoughts by a knock on his car’s window. Kirstie stood there, looking incredibly concerned. The short man opened his car’s door and stepped out as his friend pulled him in for a hug.

“It’s going to be okay, Mitch,”  
“I read his diary,”  
“I know, Mitch, I know,” she whispered. The brunette man pulled away, horror etched over his face. “Scott called me this morning, honey. He’s just as confused as you, okay?” she continued, her voice still hushed. Mitch only nodded, wiping away the few tears that still remained.  
“I’m scared to talk to him, Kirst... but I’m pushing him away and I can’t lose him,” Mitch murmured, feeling fresh tears burn in his eyes once again. He let out a sob and Kirstie wrapped her arms around him again, speaking softly to her friend in an attempt to soothe him. _This diary could be a good thing_ , she thought, _but I have to make both of them see that too_.


	8. Fear of Repetition

Scott had been sitting in his room all morning, cross-legged on his bed with his journal resting in his lap and his cell phone in his hand. He'd called Kirstie a couple of hours after he'd woken up as he had no idea what to think or feel. He was angry. But he wasn't angry because Mitch had read the note - no, that was embarrassing, but Scott wasn't mad about it. Scott was angry that Mitch was apologizing. Scott was angry that Mitch was telling _him_ to stop crying. The blonde couldn't always comprehend Mitch's bizarre train of thought, but it was one of the many things he liked about the shorter man. Despite being annoyed by the other man's message, Scott was touched by the gesture, and relieved to know that Mitch did care about him, even if he didn't show it. _He's just sad_ , Scott told himself. But Scott hated knowing that Mitch was sad. It made him uncomfortable - only he and Kirstie knew of how Mitch had been during their high school years. Scott was terrified that he could end up losing the countertenor altogether. Not wanting to even consider the possibility, Scott reached for his headphones. He needed some form of music to block out his thoughts, even if it did remind him of his friend.

After a while, Scott pulled off his headphones and listened to the silence before shifting his position so that he could stretch out his legs. Pressing a button on his phone, he checked the time. It was almost midday, which caused Scott to sigh. Another day was going to waste. He read over the note that Mitch had left a few more times, allowing his mind to wander a little, until he was snatched from his thoughts by the sound of the front door opening, and then closing. Mitch. Scott leaped to his feet, sending his notebook flying as he dropped the phone onto his bed. He hastily ran to Mitch's room, and stood in the doorway repeating the word, "fuck," as if it were a mantra. Mitch had left. Scott rubbed his face with his hands, exhaling deeply before his breathing quickened. Panicking now, the hyperventilating blonde felt tears prick in his eyes. He was supposed to be keeping Mitch safe and instead he let the countertenor run off to fuck knows where. Scott's mind was suddenly filled with the endless possibilities of what could happen to Mitch. He could get beaten. He could be murdered. He could be leaving to kill himself. Gasping for breath, Scott's cheeks were covered in a familiar shining liquid as his brain convinced him that his best friend was never coming home. Leaning on the walls for support, the blonde made his way back to his own room, barely able to see through the mist of tears.

Throwing himself onto his bed like a moody teenager, Scott found himself unable to halt the scenes that were playing through his mind: Mitch throwing himself from a bridge, Mitch crashing his car, Mitch stepping in front of a car, Mitch hanging himself, Mitch swallowing a bunch of pills, Mitch, Mitch, Mitch. All he could think of was Mitch. Scott couldn't live without Mitch and the countertenor knew that. Five years ago, Scott had driven Mitch to the hospital after a bad breakup. Five years ago, Scott had promised to protect Mitch, no matter what. Five years ago, Scott had, through tears, told Mitch he couldn't live without him. Five years ago, Mitch had tried to end his own life.

Scott couldn't remember how he had been the one to find Mitch unconscious on the bathroom floor, but he had. Ever since that day, Scott had been terrified to allow Mitch too much freedom, but had let the countertenor have the freedom anyway out of fear of upsetting the younger man. He didn't know how to treat the other man anymore - he'd never asked out of fear of looking stupid. He had no idea how to act around Mitch; all he knew was that he wanted to protect the brunette. He couldn't bear to imagine losing his best friend. The pain still swam from his eyes, gently dancing down his cheeks as his breathing gradually returned to normal. He cried silently, his head resting in his hands, until he was snatched from the swirling mess in his mind by a loud noise.

His phone began to play a song Scott knew, but couldn't place in his startled state, but it brought him back to reality. The blonde picked up his phone, and saw that he had a new text from Kirstie. An almost paralyzing fear took hold of him – what if Kirstie had found Mitch’s body? Biting his lip, he read the message.

_Mitch is okay. He’s at my house :)_

Relieved, Scott burst out laughing.


	9. Fresh Plans

"Why does Scott need to know where I am?" Mitch asked, frowning slightly at Kirstie. They were sitting on the long haired woman's couch, with the TV providing pointless background noise.  
“Because he’ll be worried – you know how he gets,” Kirstie responded, glancing up from her phone to look straight into her friend’s red-rimmed eyes. Mitch sighed in response, dropping his gaze to his hands, which were sitting awkwardly in his lap. He fiddled with his fingers as his friend’s eyes moved back to her phone. After a couple of seconds, she tossed her phone down to her right side, and looked back to her left. Mitch glanced to his right and bit his lip nervously.

“I've fucked up, haven’t I?” he muttered, mostly to himself. Frowning, Kirstie shook her head.  
“Why do you think that?”  
“I read something personal, private,” Mitch began, “He probably wants to kill me, doesn't he?”  
“He’s not mad, okay? He’s just very confused right now.”  
“Why?” the countertenor questioned, visibly perplexed.  
“You saw his list, Mitchell. He cares about you and he’s terrified to see you get hurt time after time,” Kirstie explained, a stern edge to her voice. Mitch dropped his gaze back to his hands at the sound of his full first name.  
“Why does he care so much? All I do is hurt him... he deserves so much better than me... I’m pathetic and he’s amazing and I keep hurting him. Why doesn't he leave, Kirst? Why does he stay?” Mitch’s eyes began to well up again.  
“He stays because he cares, honey. We all do,” the small woman wrapped her arms around her friend and held him.  
“I don’t want to hurt him, Kirst, but I don’t know how to talk to him,” he murmured, tears dripping from his brown eyes, “I don’t want him to cry because of me... I want him to be happy, but all I do is make him unhappy. I’m the problem, aren't I? It’s all my fau-” Kirstie cut him off, tears forming in her own eyes.  
“Don’t say that! Don’t let me ever hear you say that, Mitch! It’s not your fault; it’s never your fault, okay? Look at me,” she gently reached for her friend’s chin and pulled his face around so that she could make eye contact with the countertenor, “It’s never your fault,” The pair held one another as they cried. The long haired woman was suddenly terrified of letting her friend go – a fear she hadn't felt for a few years. _This must be how Scott feels constantly_ , she realized as the pair of dark haired singers began to separate, their tears slowing.  
“I’m sorry,” Mitch murmured, watching his friend, “your make-up’s smudged,” he said, smiling ever so slightly. Kirstie noticed that the corners of her friend’s mouth had turned upwards and she found herself smiling.  
“You can fix it, if you want? Do my make-up?” she offered. Grateful for the distraction, Mitch nodded and the pair headed to the bathroom.

“I’m going to make you look beautiful, girl!” Mitch said with a genuine smile. His face still showed the effects of the tears he’d shed, but Kirstie was relieved to see the countertenor smiling. They spent the next couple of hours trying out various new styles, and falling against one another as they laughed. The small woman was glad to be able to help drag Mitch away from the hellish mess in his mind, even it was only a temporary pain relief. After snapping a selfie with the brunette man, she promptly sent it to Scott with a message _Got him smiling :)_ as she knew that the blonde would still be worried.

“Kirstie? Can we watch something on the TV?” Mitch called from the living room, snatching her from her phone’s screen.  
“Sure,” the woman replied, strolling into the room and joining her friend on the couch, “Ooh, Spongebob’s on!”  
“I don’t feel like watching that,” Mitch sighed. Understanding the countertenor’s thoughts, Kirstie nodded.  
“Reminds you of Scott?” she asked.  
“Yeah... “ Kirstie flicked through the channels and, eventually, the pair settled on watching _Frozen_ for about the hundredth time already.  
“This still kind of reminds me of Scott,”  
“We can change it, if you’d like?”  
“There’s no point now; we’re halfway through,” Mitch said with a small smile. Kirstie shrugged in response, and the pair focused their attention back to the television screen. When the movie ended, Mitch spoke up once again.  
“I should probably head home soon, it’s getting late,”  
“I’ll give you a ride, okay?” They spent the car journey singing along to various songs, adding their own ridiculous touches to the tunes with wide smiles on their faces. When they pulled up to Mitch’s apartment, the carefree mood faded instantly, and Kirstie looked directly at her friend, “Speak to him, okay? Or at least try and spend some time with him? He misses you,” Nodding dumbly in response, he left the car and waved goodbye to the long haired woman before making his way back into his apartment. As soon as he opened the apartment door, he was pulled into a tight hug by a blonde blur.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Scott whispered into his ear before he pulled back. Mitch burst into tears once again, but Scott’s arms were around him in an instant, pulling the brunette tight to the taller man’s chest. Neither spoke, they just stood there, sobbing, as they held one another in a tight, protective embrace.


	10. Always Stay

Scott sat, curled up on the couch, the only light in the room coming from the television that quietly babbled nonsense that he didn't care for. Asleep on the couch beside him was a small dark haired man that he could barely tear his eyes away from. He felt so lucky to be able to spend time with his best friend again, even if Mitch was asleep. Scott smiled slightly as he watched the rise and fall of the other man’s chest, and tenderly moved the blanket that was draped over Mitch, making sure that the other man's small body was fully covered. The light from the screen illuminated the countertenor’s features, and the blonde found himself drawn to the other man’s face – his gentle eyelashes, his rough stubble and his soft lips. The taller man had always told Mitch that he had the face of a model.

The brunette stirred, but remained asleep, and Scott found his own eyelids growing heavier as each second passed. He was relieved to have Mitch home again, and was still surprised that the younger man hadn't pushed him away earlier. They hadn't discussed the notebook, and Scott didn't really mind whether such a conversation took place – he just needed reassurance that the countertenor would be okay. Reflecting back over the previous few hours – most of which was spent holding his best friend – the blonde skimmed his eyes over Mitch’s face once again. It appeared to show less pain and less frustration, which helped to calm the older man's nerves. Scott slowly dozed off, drifting away into a slumber with a small smile on his lips.

When the morning crept in, Scott’s eyelids fluttered open and he stretched, his body aching from the uncomfortable position in which he had slept. He could hear Mitch snoring softly, and he couldn't help but grin. He _hadn't_ imagined the previous night – nor was it a dream. He really had spent time with his friend. Standing up and rubbing his eyes, the baritone decided that he should probably go and fetch some coffee. Still half-asleep, he pulled on a snapback to cover his mess of blonde hair and pushed his feet roughly into the first pair of shoes he could find before racing out of the door to Starbucks. He really wanted to have the coffee back for Mitch before he woke up.

When Scott arrived back at the apartment around fifteen minutes later with two cups of coffee and one gluten-free pastry for his friend, he was relieved to see that the brunette was still asleep. Dumping the items in the kitchen, Scott then knelt down in front of the countertenor and whispered softly to him.  
“Mitchie, it’s morning,” the countertenor stirred after a minute or so, and then opened his brown eyes slightly.  
“Scott?” he murmured groggily.  
“I bought you coffee; it’s in the kitchen,” the taller man said, smiling despite the fear that had begun to grow in his stomach. He couldn't cope with being pushed away again.  
“I’m sorry,” Scott’s smile turned into a perplexed frown.  
“Why? Mitch, you've done nothing wrong.”

“You’re hurting, though,” Mitch said simply, and Scott found himself unable to speak. He felt as though his voice had been torn from his throat. He opened his mouth, but was unable to form any words. He felt his bottom lip begin to quiver, and lowered his gaze to the floor. He could hear shuffling from above him – the brunette had shifted into a seated position, crossing his legs underneath his own body. The next thing Scott knew, a hand was on his shoulder, which startled the older man. He found himself involuntarily glancing upwards to check for the source of the contact, even though he knew that it was Mitch. Scott’s teary blue eyes met Mitch’s apologetic brown pair and the blonde instantly dropped his gaze back to his knees. He heard the shorter man take a deep breath. “I’m really sorry that I've been hurting you, Scott. I don’t really know what to say – or what I can say, but I don’t want to hurt you. I thought that if I left you alone, maybe you’d f-forget me,” Mitch broke down in tears, but forced himself to continue, “and then you’d l-leave so that I couldn't hurt you. C-can you forgive me?” Scott raised his gaze from his blue jeans and stood up without saying a word before bending down to hug the countertenor.

“I’ll never leave you, okay?” he managed to say, pulling the brunette close to him.  
“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” Mitch blubbered, wrapping his arms tightly around the blonde.  
“I don’t want you to hurting anymore,” Scott whispered in response, rubbing the smaller man’s back as he sobbed, “I’m going to keep you safe this time.” As they cried over one another once again, Scott was almost certain he heard a phrase fall quietly from Mitch’s lips - a phrase that he wasn't supposed to hear.


	11. The Dawning of Control

With his head in his hands, Mitch was sitting on the edge of his bed, trying to silence his thoughts. He was such an idiot - he'd almost given himself away. He was terrified that Scott may have heard the heartfelt confession that had slipped accidentally from his lips as they’d cried and so, in response, the brunette had locked himself away in his room. Before he’d left the taller man, he'd managed to drink his coffee, and had forced down half of the pastry he'd been given, but didn't want to be around the blonde any longer in case he was confronted. He threw himself backward onto his bed out of frustration, letting out a grunt of annoyance as he did so. He hated his inability to behave like a normal human being around his best friend, but he hated being apart from his best friend even more. Rubbing his face with his hands, the countertenor sighed. His head was filled with the grey mess again, but it was more confusing this time. It wasn’t a ball of sadness like it had been previously; it was a ball of fear. He couldn’t bear to lose Scott.

The weight of the meaning of his thoughts hit him like a ton of tricks.

The break up didn’t matter anymore. The break up was bad, yeah, of course, but that wasn’t why he was so fucking miserable. No, he was miserable because he had been shutting Scott out, and now he’d allowed himself back to the blonde, he didn’t want them to be apart. He allowed himself to think back to his previous relationships, and deduced that really, he was pretty good at recovering from heartbreak. He was also, however, good at pushing certain people away. His head, full of whirring confusion and terror, began to throb as he tried to piece together his thoughts and emotions. Feeling was confusing. _Maybe it’d be better to just... not feel_ , Mitch told himself as he sat up like a puppet and began walking over to his dresser. He opened a drawer and began to feel underneath some of the clothes before he regained control of himself and snatched his hand away. “How stupid... How fucking stupid are you?” he hissed, shoving the drawer shut and backing away. He stared at the dresser as if it were a monster, his eyes wide as he ran his fingers roughly through his dark hair. He instinctively ghosted his right hand over his thighs, fully aware of what lay beyond his jeans. He didn’t trust himself alone in his room, but he didn’t want to face Scott. Allowing a loud sigh to escape his lips, he decided to take a nap. He pulled off his red shirt and ran his fingers gently over the bruises that still remained before slipping into his bed and pulling the blanket over his body.

When he awoke an hour and a half later, he was confused. He didn’t know why, though, which only made it harder for him to comprehend anything. He stared at the ceiling above him and allowed himself to think back to when he and Scott were younger, before they were teenagers. He could recall how they were inseparable and how much fun they had. He could also remember the moments he dreaded, the times when things hadn’t gone the way Mitch had planned. In an ideal world, Mitch would’ve been a heterosexual, masculine man with a beautiful girlfriend and a great life - with the added bonus of no scars, of course. Trying to picture himself as a masculine man caused him to laugh. Trying to picture himself with a woman made his skin crawl.

Mitch thought back to how amazing Scott had always been, the way that Scott had always been there for him – even when the brunette didn’t deserve it. He knew he was lucky to have a best friend like Scott, someone who would always help him and would be there for him. Fuck, the blonde had even saved Mitch’s life... Scott had saved Mitch’s life more times than the countertenor would ever allow himself to admit to anyone. Mitch’s eyes filled with tears as he thought of his past. He knew that he couldn’t keep himself away from the baritone any longer. If Scott knew how Mitch felt and cared as much as he claimed to, then surely the blonde wouldn’t be cruel enough to reject the younger man. Mitch could only hope that his best friend would spare him the pain and just not mention his slip of the tongue. Wiping away the stray tears, Mitch sat up and began to climb out of bed. He reached for his shirt and pulled it on before heading towards the door. As his hand reached the doorknob, it dawned on him.

In an ideal world, everything would be exactly the same, except the blonde would love Mitch in the same way that he loved Scott.


	12. Thinking it Through

Scott couldn’t sit still, and his constant fidgeting was even irritating himself. He stood up and began pacing around the room, walking another ten or so laps of the living room. He’d already circled the room at least sixty previous times in the past twenty minutes. Finally slowing and eventually stopping, he rested his forehead against the nearest wall and let out a loud sigh. It couldn’t be true – well, at least not in a romantic context, right? The blonde lifted his head away slightly and ran his right hand through his hair. He was so confused. Why did that phrase mean so much to him? Bringing his hand over his face, he pinched the bridge of his nose and decided to text Kirstie.

_Can you help? I’m confused._

Within moments, he had his reply – the short woman was asking if she should come over to his and Mitch’s apartment. Texting a simply reply of _Yes_ , Scott headed into the kitchen and grabbed a can of Dr Pepper. Taking a swig, he tried to plan what he was going to say to Kirstie, but quickly realized that he didn’t have a clue. Nothing was making any sense, and Scott was almost certain he was missing an important detail. He just didn’t know what that detail was. Lost in his muddled thoughts, Scott was unaware of any time passing – he was simply snatched away from his mind by his friend’s incessant knocking. Pushing the dining chair backwards, he clambered to his feet and made his way to the door.

“Stop knocking, damn it, Kirst! I can hear you!” he sighed as he opened the door. The long haired woman flashed a smile to the baritone and stepped inside before plopping herself down onto the couch. Rolling his eyes, he promptly joined her on the couch.  
“You don’t look confused,” Kirstie said with a grin.  
“Someone’s in a good mood,” Scott chuckled, shaking his head. The long haired woman smiled, nodded a little and then spoke again, only this time with a more serious tone.  
“What happened when Mitch got back last night?”  
“We hugged, cried a little and he fell asleep on the couch, which was great. But, this morning... he was apologizing and... I don’t know. It’s probably nothing,” Scott said, frowning. Had he really heard Mitch say those three words? Or did he believe he heard them? Did he want to hear them? His brain was asking so many questions that the tall man had covered his face with his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. He felt his friend’s arm reach out to rub his back.  
“It’s not ‘nothing’ if it’s bothering you,” Kirstie said, frowning.  
“I thought I heard him say something, but now... I’m just being stupid, I’m sure,” the older man said, his voice muffled slightly by his large hands.  
“Oh. Well, what did you think he said?” his friend sounded genuinely interested, which, for some reason that Scott couldn’t place, left him feeling slightly concerned.  
“I swear that I’m just being dumb. I don’t even know why it means so much to me. He probably meant nothing by it, I just... I don’t know,” The baritone rambled.

“What did he say?”  
“That he loved me.”  
“And now where is he?”  
“His room, I think. Why?”  
“Great, well... I think you two need to have a chat. A long one,” Kirstie sighed.  
“Does he love me?” Scott asked, finally moving his hands away from his face. He looked up at the long haired singer, who said nothing. “Fuck,” was all Scott could force himself to say.

“He’s been in love with you since we were in high school,” the short woman spoke softly.  
“What do I do? Do I talk to him? Do I confront him?” Kirstie shook her head.  
“Nope,” she began, popping the ‘p’, “You sit here and you think about what you’re going to do. Then you tell me, okay? But sleep on it, Scott.”  
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about this.”

“I know, honey, I know. But you’ll figure it out, I promise” she whispered to him. He felt tears burn in his eyes, his thoughts buzzing around like annoying wasps that just would not go away. Kirstie, sensing the blonde’s discomfort, reached for the television remote, “Let’s watch some crappy show, eh?” Wiping away his tears with the palms of his hands, Scott nodded and shuffled into a more comfortable position on the couch. _At least this will take me away from my brain for a few hours_ , the baritone thought to himself as his friend asked him to pick something to watch. Eventually settling on a movie – a romantic comedy – the pair grabbed some snacks and settled down for a couple of hours of pure distraction. A little more dread filled the pit of Scott’s stomach with every second that passed – he really didn’t want to have to face any of this yet.


	13. Drowning in Nonsense

Sitting on a park bench, Mitch watched the world pass him by, continuing on and on without a care. His attempts to distract himself from his little confession were going surprisingly well. He felt a slight pang of jealousy in his chest as his eyes fell upon a young couple who were strolling hand in hand along the pathway. He averted his eyes from the lovers and allowed his eyes to wander from person to random person once again. He absent-mindedly fiddled with his cell phone, running his fingers over the smooth surface as he exhaled deeply. He sat back against the bench, slouching slightly, and lifted his head towards the clouds. One day, he’d bring a date here and watch the clouds flutter and fly around in the sea of blue, he decided. It reminded him of Scott’s shirt, and also of Scott’s eyes and – well, it just reminded him of Scott. He wanted to bring Scott here, and watch the clouds with him. But Scott wouldn’t want such a thing. _Why would anyone want to be with me?_ Mitch thought, sighing to himself. Forcing himself upright in an attempt to prevent the grey clouds that rained on his kind from returning, the countertenor returned to his people-watching session. The clouds could only taunt him by showing him the only one he wanted, the one he could never have.

Slowly standing up, the brunette began to make his way back to the apartment but he changed his mind after he had traveled half of the way back and headed to Starbucks. He didn’t really want more thinking time, but he certainly didn’t want to face Scott. He ordered his coffee and stared at the food on display. He really wanted the food, but he would have no chance of finding a boyfriend if he was fat. He knew that well, but he liked food. He hated starving himself, but he didn’t know what else he could do. Taking his drink, he made his way over to a corner booth and slumped down into the seat. His thoughts had started to race around his head again like speeding cars on a track and he could feel the storm in his mind brewing.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Mitch let out a deep breath. Everything was confusing. Nothing felt right, everything was wrong and nothing made sense anymore. He wanted Scott, so instead he pushed him away. He wanted food, so instead he didn’t eat. He forced the tips of his fingers into the corners of his eyes to try to halt the tears that had started to burst out. His brain was filled with random words and phrases that only amounted to more confusion. The layers of nonsense in his head rained down on him like a grey, stormy cloud as his eyes let raindrops fall. He just wanted an escape from the sea of nonsense in which he was drowning. The time flew by like the clouds outside, but the ones in his mind remained, dark replacements for his heartfelt daydreams.

No one had approached him, each and every one too busy with their own lives. Rationality had long since faded and Mitch felt rejected. He believed that no one cared about him. His body ached, his throat was sore, his eyes stung and he wanted to go home. Home is where the heart is and Scott certainly had Mitch’s heart. But Mitch being able to claim Scott’s heart, Scott’s lips – just Scott – as his was nothing but a distant fantasy that was fading fast. Reality was a nightmare, and Mitch wanted to sleep. His body begged for rest, for nutrition, for love and for comfort. Mitch’s brain told him to do the opposite. The conflicting emotions were exhausting and left Mitch feeling nothing; he was completely numb. The numbness spread through the countertenor like a painkiller, and the small brunette took in a large breath. Finishing the rest of his coffee, he left the shop. He had to decide which path to follow. And he knew that he had to decide fast.

Upon his arrival back to the apartment, he was surprised to see Kirstie and Scott curled up, fast asleep on the couch. Smiling a little, he petted Wyatt, who purred in response, and then crept, carefully, toward his bedroom, the Sphynx cat following closely behind him.  
“Can you help me?” he whispered to the cat as he shut the door. He sat down on his bed and the animal joined him, strolling into the short man’s lap and settling down. The purring Sphynx, who had curled himself up in a ball, was the only company Mitch could face at that moment, and he was grateful for the small animal’s company, “Mommy’s going to do something, baby, and it might ruin everything, but I think it’s the only way to stop this... mess that I’ve caused,” the countertenor continued rambling on until he noticed that the small animal was asleep. Chuckling lightly, he gently scooped up the sleeping kitten and placed him on a pillow before removing his clothes and getting into bed. Sleep found its way to Mitch in a record time. The brunette knew what he was going to do.


	14. This Moment

When the morning danced in, Scott opened his eyes and was slightly surprised to see that he was alone. He shifted slightly, stretching out his limbs that had been trapped in uncomfortable positions and glanced around the living room. Kirstie's bag and jacket were still on one of the chairs, so Scott knew that she hadn't left yet. A sudden clatter from the kitchen halted his examination of the room, and despite still being half-asleep, the baritone climbed to his feet and went to investigate. As soon as he saw the state of the room, he had to bite his lip to prevent an outburst of giggles. Kirstie had clearly been attempting to make breakfast, but, judging from the mess that covered the room, Scott figured that it was safe to presume that her attempts were failing miserably. There were various different foods spilled across the counters, and the floor was covered in what looked to be a mixture of egg and something else - milk, perhaps. Shaking his head with a grin on his lips, Scott cleared his throat. Unaware of the baritone's presence until that moment, a startled Kirstie dropped the plastic bowl she was holding, sending more liquid flying everywhere. Scott burst out into a fit of hysterical laughter.

"Oh my God! Your face!" he managed between giggles.  
"I thought you were asleep!" the long haired woman exclaimed, trying her best to look annoyed. She couldn't manage it, though, as the corners of her mouth were fighting to turn upwards and form a smile.  
"What are you even doing?" Scott laughed, running his index finger over the closest counter and holding up the food-covered finger to his friend, who couldn't hold back her own laughter anymore.

"I literally have no idea," she chuckled, bending down to pick up the bowl that she had dropped. Smirking, she walked closer to her blonde friend and, reaching up high, held the bowl over Scott's head. Various liquids fell from the container and fell into the tall man's hair, some of it dripping down his face. Giggling like a child, Kirstie dropped the bowl as her friend protested through his own laughter.  
"I'll get you for that!" Scott yelled, lifting the bowl from his head and placing it on Kirstie's, who screamed and pulled the bowl off almost instantly before reaching for the milk. Laughing, she opened it and poured it over Scott, who retaliated by cracking an egg over her head. Next came the flour, the water, some more milk, a few more eggs and a lot of laughter. The pair ended up on the floor, crying from their laughter, hugging one another, sitting in a sea of food. A snort of laughter caught their attention; Mitch was standing in the doorway, scanning his eyes over the sight that had found its way in front of him.

"You had a food fight? Without me?" he pouted, folding his arms.  
"Aw, we're sorry, Mitchie," Kirstie smiled as the small man joined the pair on the floor.  
"We could've used this food fight for Superfruit," Scott mused, staring at the ceiling. He didn't feel comfortable looking at his best friend, who had pulled out his cell phone.  
"What're you doing?" Kirstie questioned.  
"Calling Ryan - we can film something like this for YouTube... although we may need some more food, since you guys have basically turned into walking cake mixtures," Mitch chuckled as he stood up, the back of his clothes now also covered in food. He walked into the other room to make his phone call.  
"You can't ignore him," Kirstie hissed to her blonde friend. She'd noticed the way he'd kept his eyes glued to one corner of the ceiling when the countertenor had been in the room.  
"I don't know what to say, though. Or what to think... or feel, for that matter," the tall man murmured in response. 

They sat in silence until Mitch returned a few minutes later, strolling in with a grin on his face.  
"He said he'll be here in about half an hour or so - with some more food."  
"Are people really going to want to watch us throw half of the contents of a kitchen at each other?" the long haired woman asked, smiling at Mitch.  
"The internet is a rather strange place, Kirst," Mitch responded, flashing her a grin. Kirstie was surprised to see that Mitch was in such a good mood - hadn't he supposedly confessed his true feelings for Scott the previous day? Why was he so calm and happy? In fact, Kirstie couldn't even remember the last time she'd seen the countertenor smiling this much. Glancing over at Scott, she sighed quietly and rolled her eyes. Scott was too stubborn to listen to her, and she knew that.

"Hey, shouldn't we cover Mitch in some food before we start? To make it more... fair?" the woman smiled.  
"Whatever," Scott shrugged. Kirstie caught a glimpse of the frown on Mitch's face and looked over at Scott again.  
"Want to help?" She offered. The blonde shook his head, and Kirstie raised an eyebrow at him.  
"You sure?"  
"What's wrong, Scottie?" Mitch asked, dread painted all over his face. Kirstie, sensing that it wasn't the right time for this discussion, grabbed two eggs and cracked one over each of her friend's heads.

"Come one, enough moping. Let's have some fun!" she declared before turning to each of the men individually and mouthing a simple "later" at them. The two men tried to keep their distance from one another, which Kirstie simply couldn't allow. She knew she had to get these two idiots together somehow, or else it would completely destroy them. But she had to find a way to force Scott to realize his feelings for the countertenor first. Sighing to herself, she splashed some milk over Mitch and encouraged the blonde man to do the same. The time flew by surprisingly quickly, and the three were covered in food by the time Ryan turned up. Setting up the camera quickly and passing the food to the trio, they filmed the episode of Superfruit with smiles on their faces. Knowing that he couldn't distance himself from Mitch whilst they were on camera, he forced himself to treat the short man the way he usually did. He was sure that some of the things he said and did seemed unnatural, but he wasn't all that bothered by that - he thought his overall performance was pretty convincing. As soon as the episode had been filmed and Ryan had said his goodbyes, the trio were met with the inevitable consequence of throwing food - clearing up.

"I'm taking a shower," Scott said, staring at the floor. Kirstie stared up at the blonde and was almost certain she could see tears in his eyes, and a few tear drops falling down his face. Despite knowing that it would be quicker to have three people clean up the mess, she felt sorry for the crying blonde and told him that it was fine. Besides, it gave her the chance to speak to Mitch.


	15. Cupid the Messenger

Mitch had a cloth in his hand, wiping absent-mindedly at the layers of food that covered almost every surface in the room when Kirstie finally spoke up.  
"You told him, didn't you?"  
"Fuck, Kirst, I never meant to. It was just... I don't know. I was thinking, just feeling and now I've ruined everything!" the brunette man threw the cloth across the room as he finished speaking, his frustration boiling over.  
"You haven't, okay? He's just scared and confused, honey,"  
"He's acting like he hates me,"  
"He's not sure how to treat you," Kirstie sighed.  
"Just let him break my heart, then. No need to make it harder for the both of us," Mitch murmured, tears in his eyes. He tried to focus on the sound of the shower running in the bathroom, but that only made it worse.  
"Mitch... Mitchie, it's okay. It's going to be okay," she whispered, wrapping her arms around the countertenor, who finally broke down, unable to maintain his happy facade.

"I need him; I can't lose him," Mitch spoke quietly in between harsh sobs.   
"You won't," Kirstie said softly into Mitch's ear, holding the younger man as he wept.  
"I just want him to like me," Mitch muttered as he managed to regain a little control of his breathing  
"Just give him time."  
"I'm scared, Kirst. It's not just that - I-I've... I," Mitch broke down again, hyperventilating in the long haired woman's arms.  
"You haven't been eating, have you?" the hushed words may as well have been screamed out at the top of her lungs. Mitch was feeling exposed, undressed, bare, so he fought his way from his friend's grasp, and tried to run. He was a quivering mess, his friend's words replying through his head, and he didn't get far before his legs buckled underneath him. Like a deer caught in headlights, he stared up at the woman.

"How did you-?" he managed to choke out. Kirstie kneeled down in front of the shaking countertenor and grasped one of his hands.  
"Scott mentioned it, honey. He's worried about you."  
"I want to eat," Mitch whispered, "but I'm scared."  
"Why are you scared, Mitchie?" Mitch looked away.  
"I want people to like me," he spoke quietly to the wall that was now opposite him, not glancing around to judge his friend's response. The woman frowned at the side of the brunette man’s head.  
"People do like you, though.”  
“I want to be loved, Kirst. I want to be loved and not beaten. The only person I trust enough is Scott and he won’t want me if I’m fat and ugly,” the younger man had rivers flowing from his eyes, dripping down his face and onto the floor below him. Gently, Kirstie reached out and helped to move her friend’s head towards her. Looking into his pain-filled, red rimmed eyes made Kirstie’s own eyes fill with tears.  
“You’re not fat, or ugly. Anyone would be lucky to have someone as sweet as you. You’re kind, you’re patient and yeah- sure- you’re a little too sensitive at times, but we all have our flaws, eh? I mean, Scott in there’s too dumb to realize why he’s stuck by you,” Kirstie said softly to her friend, who frowned. His tears had started to slow, and he wiped his face with the back of his hand before taking a deep breath.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Just give him time, honey. He’ll work it out.”  
“I don’t understand... what will he work out?”  
“It needs to come from him, Mitch. I can’t keep playing messenger,” she sighed, mumbling, “or Cupid,” under her breath.  
“What if he never does?” Mitch murmured.  
“He will,” Kirstie began confidently, “or else I’ll kick his butt,” she smiled. Not even Mitch’s sadness could prevent the corners of his mouth from upturning into a smile at the mental image of the long haired woman attempting to take on Scott.

“He’s like, six feet taller that you are, girl!” the countertenor grinned, rubbing his eyes with his fingers in an attempt to remove the last of his tears. Kirstie laughed and wrapped an arm around Mitch, who hugged the short woman.  
“I should totally do it though.”  
“Only if Avi and Kevin help you,” Mitch chuckled.  
“And not you?” Kirstie smiled, rolling her eyes.  
“Bitch, please, do I look like I want to be surrounded by sweaty- wait,” the pair burst into hysterical laughter, holding onto one another. Neither of them heard the water being shut off, their incessant giggling smothering all other noise. They didn’t even notice when Scott appeared in the room, but both were snatched from their enjoyment by the blonde slamming his bedroom door. The pair, visibly startled, looked at one another with wide eyes.

“I’m going to go home and let you two talk,” Kirstie said simply, “We can sort the mess out in there tomorrow,” she said, nodding her head toward the kitchen. Still in her food covered clothes, and with raw egg in her long hair, the short woman grabbed her stuff and left. Mitch, after a few minutes had passed, reluctantly stood up and headed towards Scott’s bedroom.

“It’s now or never,” he whispered to himself as he knocked on the door.


	16. Wash it Away

When Scott left the room to take a shower, his thoughts were racing. Nothing was making any sense to him and his confusion had caused him to cry again. After gathering some fresh clothes, he slipped into the bathroom and allowed himself to fall apart. He quickly pulled off his clothes, his body shaking as he sobbed, and climbed into the shower. He turned the water on and pressed his back against the cool tiles behind him and started to slide down until he was sitting. He rested his forehead on his hands, screwing his eyes shut tightly in a feeble attempt to slow the flow of tear drops. He didn't want to shut Mitch out - he knew that would crush the younger man and he couldn't bear to be like all of those other men that chewed him up and spat him out. He didn't want to hurt Mitch. He wanted to be able to protect Mitch from everyone and everything. He wanted to wrap the countertenor up in thick, padded blankets and keep him in a safe room with just a few people that Scott felt were able to be trusted. But he couldn't do that without smothering the brunette, which would hurt him.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he thought about the amount of people he genuinely trusted to be able to be around Mitch, and quickly realized that there were not many. He had a small amount of trust in most people, but never enough to feel that they wouldn't hurt his best friend. Mitch meant everything to him. Without Mitch, Scott would fall apart, and he knew that. Scott knew he couldn't shut out the countertenor without both of them getting hurt. Sighing, Scott knew that no matter how Mitch felt about him, they'd have to work through it somehow. And then, when Mitch got over the blonde, he could go out and get another boyfriend. Scott clenched his fists. If Mitch went out dating, he would only get hurt again. He was too kind and too sensitive and too nice and all of those bastards would only take advantage of that and treat the brunette like shit. If Scott was dating Mitch, he'd treat the countertenor like a princess. _Mitch deserves so much better than those idiots_ , Scott thought, anger boiling inside his blood. If Scott was dating Mitch, he'd give him the world. Scott's entire body shook violently as he tried to fight his rage. If Scott was dating Mitch, he'd never hurt the brunette in any way. Scott leaned back, pressing his head against the wall behind him, fighting to slow his breathing, which had sped up as his anger had increased.

A few stray teardrops fell from his blue eyes and intertwined with the water from the shower. He was the only person he trusted enough to be able to treat Mitch the way that he felt the brunette should be treated. He let out a sob of relief as he realized that he wanted to. He wanted Mitch. He wanted everything about Mitch. The flood returned to his face again, relief pouring from his sore eyes. How had he not realized before? It made so much sense. Everything had suddenly fallen into place. Mitch loved him. Mitch _loved_ him and he loved Mitch. Everything seemed so much clearer, but, at the same time, terrifying. What if they didn’t work as a couple? It would ruin their friendship, their careers... their lives.

Letting out a sound of frustration, the baritone climbed to his feet and reached for some shampoo as he wondered why, even when things made complete sense, they were still so complicated. He washed his hair first, and then his body, rushing so that he could head back to his room to think. Or maybe to talk to Kirstie, he wasn’t sure. As he planned out what he would tell the long haired woman, he realized that Kirstie must’ve suspected that he had feelings for Mitch. _How could she have known when I didn’t?_ he asked himself, frowning slightly. Deciding to think about the small details later, he finished his shower and shut off the water. He dried himself off and changed into his fresh clothes before taking a deep breath and placing his hand on the door handle. He could hear Mitch and Kirstie’s persistent laughter and rolled his eyes. They were idiots. Knowing that he still didn’t know where to begin, or what to say, he opened the door and ran to his own room. He opened the door and then slammed it behind him before exhaling deeply. He strolled over to his bed and plopped himself down on the edge. He could deal with everything else later, he decided. He just needed to clear his head and work out where to go from there.


	17. Tell it All

Mitch, who was still covered in the evidence of the food fight, could hear shuffling from beyond the door, but Scott did not respond. Resting his hand on the door handle, he internally debated with himself - should he open the door? He wanted to - and, when things were okay, he wouldn't have hesitated - but things weren't okay, and he knew that. Because Scott knew. Scott knew how Mitch felt. Letting out a breath that hadn't realized he was holding, he knocked again. He heard some more shuffling, and some quiet footsteps before the door was opened slightly.  
"Not now, Mitch," the blonde sighed, beginning to push the door shut. Mitch, with the words 'it's now or never' running through his brain, began to push the door too.  
"I really need to talk to you,"  
"I don't want to talk," Scott pushed harder, forcing Mitch back a little.  
"Scott, I need to-"  
"No!"  
"Please!"  
"I said 'no'!" Scott shouted. Mitch felt his eyes well up. He was terrified. He'd upset Scott and now Scott would surely want to hurt him. His bottom lip quivered, his eyes began to leak but he had to say it.  
"I know that you know," he whispered, "and I'm sorry." the countertenor stepped away from the door, and the force of Scott's weight on the other side caused it to slam shut. 

Mitch ran into his room and grabbed his suitcase before trying to shove as many of his possessions inside the container. Kirstie had been wrong - Scott clearly hated him. Everything was ruined. The grey clouds had returned, and the brunette sank to the floor in tears. This was why he didn't want Scott knowing. This was why he'd hidden his feelings for so long. He'd ruined everything. Scott wouldn't want someone as fat and ugly and weird as Mitch. Mitch was nothing more than a useless slut. Violent sobs ran through the small man's body as his eyes poured salty liquid. He hated himself. He'd always known, deep down, that he would never be able to be with Scott and he'd been grateful to have the older man as his closest and most valuable friend. Now he'd gone and pissed all over that precious friendship and left it in ruins. He curled up in fetal position in the middle of his bedroom floor, surrounded by various items of clothing and other personal belongings that he'd been trying to pack. He had to leave, to go somewhere else, but he didn't have the strength to move anymore; all of his energy had faded into tears. He didn't know what to take or what to leave or what would happen to Wyatt or where he'd go and his head hurt. He continued to bawl, unable to halt the flood that was filling his eyes and overflowing.

He wanted an escape from his head, which was hurling insult after insult at him. He wanted to tear all the fat off of his body, and the rip his skin to shreds with a blade. He wanted to destroy, to damage. His mind was decaying, a black stormy cloud of thunder, and he wanted his body to do the same. He wanted to sew his mouth shut. That way he would never say anything stupid and he'd have the added bonus of not being able to eat. His entire body shook violently as he cried. He wanted Scott to come in, to pick him up and to hold him, but the countertenor knew that that was impossible. 

Mitch, wrapped up in his sorrow to the point where he was unaware of his surroundings, didn't hear the door open, nor did he hear it close. He didn't hear the awkward shuffling, and he was unaware of the figure that had knelt down beside him. A shaking hand reached out and rested on the brunette's upper arm. The small, sobbing form was startled, and moved quickly, his head almost colliding with the figure's. He stared, eyes wide, at the blonde man in front of him, and despite his attempts, could not manage to say a word. He felt as though his voice had been cut out.

"I'm sorry," Scott whispered, biting his bottom lip.  
"No, no. I shouldn't have said anything," Mitch managed after a couple of minutes silence. His tears had began to subside, and his sadness had been replaced with pure terror.  
"I'm glad you did, Mitch. But, what's all of this?" the baritone frowned, a look of pure concern in his eyes as he gestured to the mess in Mitch's room.  
"I'm g-going. I don't want to make it worse," Mitch murmured. Scott looked horrified.  
"Stay. Please, I'll do anything," the blonde begged, the panic running through his voice.  
"I've ruined our friendship, Scott,"  
"You haven't, Mitch, you haven't," Scott began, tears in his eyes, "I'm the idiot here, okay? Because I should've-" the older man stopped, and took a deep breath, "I guess what I'm trying to say is... I-I,"  
"It's fine, Scott, I can go-"  
"I think I love you."


	18. For A While

When Scott had walked into Mitch’s bedroom, the sight of the small tenor who was curled up on the floor broke his heart. When Scott had approached the crumbled heap, his body had started to shake. When Scott spoke to Mitch, he felt nothing but pure guilt. He’d wanted time, and instead he’d almost lost his friend. When he’d finally managed to force out those five words, he felt his heart shatter.

“You don’t need to lie,” Mitch had told him, “You don’t have to pretend,” and, Scott, who’d been fighting back tears, let the liquid fall.

“I mean it, Mitch,” the blonde cried, but Mitch didn’t believe the older man.

“Just let me go, Scott,” the small countertenor sobbed, “I’ll be fine.”

“I can’t,” the baritone murmured, reaching out to the other man. He pulled Mitch upright and pulled the younger man into his chest, “I’ll never let you go,” but Mitch’s hands were pushing at Scott’s chest, trying to break free of the grip. Their loud, harsh sobs and panicked breaths filled the apartment as Mitch struggled. Scott showed no sign of relenting; if he was going to lose the brunette, he had to hold him one last time. Growing weaker, Mitch’s assault on his friend’s chest began to slow, and he let out a strangled sob as he gripped Scott t-shirt tightly, forcing his face into the fabric to mop up a few of his tears.

“I don’t want you to lie to me,” Mitch murmured, his voice muffled by the material in his hands.

“I’m not,” Scott managed to say as he held the countertenor close, “I’d never lie... I can’t lose you. I need you - I love you. It’s taken so long for me to understand, but I think I have for a while - even though I didn’t know.” Mitch let out a breath that he’d been holding, and released the other man’s shirt from his grasp before wrapping his arms around his taller friend. The change of positions caused the pair to fall over, Mitch on top of Scott, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he gazed down at the older man’s face. He moved his hand gently to wipe away a few of Scott’s tears before cupping his cheek.

“I believe you,” he whispered as he briefly pressed his lips against the baritone’s. He was nervous - no, he was terrified that Scott would still reject him, but he couldn’t resist. Lost in his thoughts, he was caught by surprise as Scott leaned up to kiss him, capturing his lips in the way that he’d captured his heart. The blonde reached one hand up to Mitch’s neck, the other resting on the other man’s back. The kiss was frantic, desperate, needy, the pair grasping and gasping as their lips met and their tongues touched. Finally breaking the kiss, Mitch smiled down at Scott as their heavy breaths combined. He placed a gentle kiss on the tip of Scott’s nose and felt his eyes well up once again. He shook his head when he noticed Scott’s frown.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?” the blonde whispered, the terror evident in both his voice and his blue eyes.

“No, I’m j-just... I’m happy, so happy. I can’t believe – I,” Mitch blubbered as Scott pulled the smaller man down so that the brunette could rest his head on the baritone’s chest.

“Does this make us boyfriends?” Scott wondered aloud, stroking Mitch’s hair.

“Only if you want,” Mitch whispered as the fear of rejection crept back in, the doubt returning.

“I do, Mitch,” Scott smiled, staring at the top of the countertenor’s head. Mitch let out sound of relief and looked up at Scott. He looked up at his boyfriend.

“You’ve just made me the happiest man on the planet,” Mitch murmured, pressing his lips against the blonde’s. They rolled over onto their sides, kissing slowly and sweetly as they held one another close. The sea of the brunette’s belongings and the layers of raw egg and milk that covered Mitch no longer mattered. They had each other.

“I’m sorry that it took me so long to realize,” Scott said softly when they finally broke apart, holding the other man close to his body.

"You’ve never been good at noticing things,” Mitch smiled, letting out a little chuckle.


	19. Almost Happy

Mitch opened his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, which he’d washed the night before. He turned around to face the warmth that lay behind him and smiled at the sleeping blonde man. He reached out his right hand and gently ran his fingers over Scott’s cheek.  _So gorgeous_ , he thought as he gazed at his boyfriend. His smile grew with every second that passed, unable to contain his happiness. He was so lucky. He watched the other man for a while longer before the need to see Scott’s beautiful blue eyes became too much and he softly pressed his lips against the baritone’s in an attempt to awaken him. Scott stirred slightly and kissed Mitch back. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing those blue pools that Mitch could drown in, and he wrapped his arms around the brunette.

“Good morning,” he smiled, as their lips separated.  He was still drowsy from sleep.

“Good morning,” Mitch giggled in response, pressing another quick kiss to the other man’s lips.

“You keep kissing me like that, and we’ll never get out of this bed again,” Scott joked.

“I’m fine with that,” the countertenor grinned, snuggling closer to the blonde. Scott held the smaller man close to his chest, allowing Mitch to hear the sound of his boyfriend’s heartbeat.

“We’ve got so much to do today though,” the older man sighed, running a hand through the brunette’s hair. Mitch sighed deeply, but then looked up at Scott and smiled.

“All the more reason to stay in bed.”

“Well, we can’t eat if we don’t get the kitchen cleared,” Scott explained, pressing his lips to the countertenor’s forehead. Mitch bit his lip to stop himself from arguing – he really didn’t want to be talking about food.

“Yeah,” he awkwardly agreed, nodding slightly. Scott moved his arms away from his boyfriend, rolled over onto his back and then sat up before stretching. Mitch watched the older man with a small smirk.

“Like what you see?” Scott grinned.

“Definitely,” Mitch said, his smirk growing wider as he blushed slightly.

“I’m going to take a shower, which gives you another twenty minutes of sleep - but I want you to be ready by the time I come back, okay?” Scott told him, pulling the covers from his body and climbing out of the bed. They’d slept in Mitch’s room, which was still littered with the brunette’s belongings. After almost tripping over the suitcase, Scott left the room to collect some clothes from his closet before heading to the shower.

Mitch rolled over onto his back and let out a deep breath. He tried to shut out his thoughts, but, once again, the doubt began to tiptoe back into the corners of his mind. What if Scott was pretending? What if Mitch was dreaming again? Running his hands over his face, Mitch let out a shaky breath. He hated his mind most of the time. No, fuck that. He hated his brain all of the time. He always doubted himself, and always doubted other people’s reasons for communicating with him. All of those hurtful words that his exes had spat at him had damaged him. They’d scarred him in a place that no one could see and there was no medicine he could find for his suffering – except Scott. And now he was lucky enough to possibly have the blonde man. Losing the baritone was out of the question, which meant Mitch would have to do everything in his power to keep the other man interested. He had to improve his singing, he had to try to put out enough without putting out too much, and he definitely couldn’t eat too much. Staying skinny was crucial.  He had to improve so that Scott wouldn’t leave him like the rest, because he wasn’t sure he would be able to cope without Scott. He wasn’t sure if he could stay alive without Scott. His thoughts continued on for a while longer, until the sound of the shower shutting off snatched him away. He wiped away the tears that he hadn’t realized he’d cried and sat up. He grabbed some clothes – some black jeans with a black and white t-shirt – and quickly pulled them on before making a grab for some shoes. After putting those on, he waited for his boyfriend to leave the bathroom and tried to stop his brain from running away with itself again. He wandered out into the living room and smiled when he saw Wyatt curled up, sound asleep on the couch. He had started to gently pet the Sphynx cat when Scott finally emerged from the bathroom.

“Damn, girl, you look good,” Mitch said as he skimmed his eyes over Scott’s body.

“I could say the same about you,” Scott grinned as he walked over. When he reached the younger man, he wrapped his arms around him and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, “You ready to go get coffee?”

“Almost, I need to fix my hair,” Mitch smiled as Scott stepped away to allow Mitch to head to the bathroom. He was genuinely grateful to be heading out to get coffee – he hadn’t been out to a shop with anyone else for a week, and he knew he’d need the coffee with the day he had ahead of him. They had to clear up the kitchen and Mitch’s bedroom, as well as possibly moving their belongings around to make it easier for them to share one of their bedrooms. “Hey, is the Superfruit episode ready yet?” he called out as he covered his hair in styling product.

“No! When would I have had time to get that done?” Scott laughed. He liked Scott’s laugh. Mitch let out a quiet giggle as he positioned his hair. Looks like he’d have to add editing the latest episode of their show to their large list of things they had to do. He really was going to need that coffee. Finally, deeming his hair to be suitably styled, he left the room and rejoined his boyfriend as they left and made their way to Starbucks.


	20. Or Maybe Not

Scott fell back onto the couch, letting out an exhausted sigh. His limbs were aching and the skin on his hands felt strange due to all of the cleaning products he'd had to use. He and Mitch had managed to clean the entire kitchen (which took three whole bottles of disinfectant spray) and rearrange their bedroom. Scott had given up his old room and what was Mitch's room was now theirs. They had both agreed that they should sleep apart occasionally, to give one another space, but it was clear that neither particularly wanted to. Scott watched as the small brunette strolled into the room holding a laptop.

"We've got to get this shit edited - it needs to be posted tomorrow," the countertenor stated, sitting next to the blonde.  
"Can't we do it later?" Scott whined. Mitch shook his head and placed the computer onto the older man's lap.  
"Nope," Mitch giggled, popping the 'p' as Scott began to hunt for the files. "Hey, where's the remote?" the brunette asked.  
"What're you going to put on?" the baritone questioned, handing his boyfriend the television remote. Mitch shrugged and hunted through the channels for something good to watch. Settling on watching Spongebob, he leaned his head on the blonde's shoulder. "Oh, I love this episode!" Scott smiled.  
"I know," the countertenor grinned.  
"By the way, when I said we needed to edit this video, I meant both of us, not just me," Scott deadpanned. The other man looked worried for a second before the older man burst out into a fit of hysterical laughter, "It's fine, Mitchie! Besides, if you try editing it, you'll probably delete half of it or something," he joked.  
"But you're tired, and I'm just being lazy."  
"It's fine, babe. Relax a little, okay?" the baritone said calmly, wrapping an arm around the brunette, who was looking away.

"I'm sorry... I'm a terrible boyfriend - you don't have to be with me, I know I'm useless," Scott could hear the way Mitch's voice cracked and knew instantly that the countertenor was crying. He gently lifted the smaller man's chin and gazed into the other man's red rimmed eyes. That pair of brown orbs showed a mixture of guilt, fear and pain and the weight of the hurt crushed Scott's heart within a second. He pressed his lips gently to Mitch's.

"You are amazing, okay? You're my everything and I want to be with you more than I can possibly say. There aren't enough words in the world to describe how much I adore you. And you're most certainly not useless - you're perfect, okay?" he whispered, looking softly into the other man's crying eyes. Mitch's bottom lip quivered as another stream of tears ran down his face. "Okay, we'll stop editing for now, and just lay here together," Scott continued, pressing save and beginning to close the laptop.  
"It needs to be done now," Mitch murmured. Scott placed the machine on the floor and then pulled Mitch as close to himself as he possibly could.  
"No, it doesn't. Right now, all that matters is making sure you're okay," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of the countertenor's head. The brunette continued to cry as Scott comforted him.  
"I'm sorry. I must be so annoying," the smaller man choked out.  
"You're not, you're not," the blonde said softly, pressing multiple light kisses to Mitch's head. He pulled the younger man's head into his chest and held him close, "You're many things, Mitch, but annoying isn't one of them."

"We need to do the video," Mitch mumbled, trying to pull away from his boyfriend. Scott felt nothing but pain, and seeing the brunette cry - it felt as if he had a knife wedged deep into his heart. He wanted to smother every last inch of Mitch's sadness, to drink every last drop of his tears. He wanted to fight away everything that scared the countertenor, he wanted to squeeze out the guilt and kiss away the pain. He'd always wanted to be the younger man's painkiller, but, in the past, he'd only been pushed away. A blanket of fear washed over him - if Mitch was to get worse, would he shut Scott out again, even though they were a couple now? 

"Mitch, don't leave," he murmured, letting the other man go. Mitch glanced up at Scott, and pity flashed briefly across his face as he weighed up his options in his head.  
"I just don't understand why," Mitch whispered, sitting upright.  
"'Why,' what?"  
"You could have anyone on this planet. Why do you want me?"  
"Because I love  _you_ , Mitch. You. Not them, but  _you_ ," Scott's voice was suddenly a little louder, and full of confidence. He knew how he felt, and he knew that he didn't want anyone else.  
"But I'm damaged goods, Scott. I'm fucked up," the brunette sighed, tears burning in his eyes again.  
"You're not," Scott whispered, tears forming in his pair of blue eyes.

"I feel like I am," Mitch mumbled.  _This is what they've done to him_ , Scott thought, anger beginning to build up inside him. He wanted to hurt the ones that had brought all of that pain and self-doubt into the younger man's eyes. He wanted them to view themselves in the same way that the broken brunette saw himself. But, more than that, he wanted Mitch back. He wanted the fun, smiling Mitch back, because he knew that the man who was shedding thousands of tears was not the real Mitch at all.  
"I'm going to help you," the baritone told his boyfriend, taking one of the other man's small hands, "I love you."

"I love you too," Mitch whispered as his tears began to slow. He curled up, head resting on the blonde's shoulder, and fell asleep. Awkwardly shuffling, and gently moving the younger man, Scott picked the laptop up from the floor and carefully allowed the sleeping man to rest his head on one of his broad shoulders once again. Scott was going to get that video edited before Mitch woke up - he wanted to at least try to make the man he loved smile, and showing him the new episode would surely cheer him up.


	21. Permanent Pain

When Mitch’s eyes opened, it was the early evening. He was surprised to see that Scott was awake – usually, when one had fallen asleep in the past, the other would take a nap too. The brunette carefully sat up, and watched as Scott began to stretch out his arm.

“Hello, sleeping beauty,” the baritone chuckled.

“Hi,” Mitch said, a light blush dancing over his cheeks.

“You know, I wasn’t expected you to be crushing my arm for four hours,” Scott grinned. Mitch felt the words sting deep to his core, but managed to fake a smiled.

“Four hours?” he managed, unsure of what else he could as his mind began to hurl insults at him once again. He really needed to lose some more weight. He needed to make sure that he couldn’t crush Scott, or it might make him mad. He really didn’t want to make the older man mad; Scott was a lot taller and stronger than him – he’d break within seconds.

“Yeah, but I got the video edited, so it’s fine. It didn’t take long,” Scott smiled, but his words only made Mitch feel even more useless. He couldn’t help edit a video, he was too fat and he was an irritating little shit that was too good at pretending to be okay. He genuinely hated himself, and he wanted to hate Scott for being so nice. He didn’t deserve it. He really didn’t deserve someone as nice and kind as Scott. Scott was amazing and talented, and he was just a heavy weight dragging everyone down.

“Can I see?” Mitch asked finally, trying to hide his disappointment. He’d really wanted to help out, just to prove to himself that he could at least do _something_ , even if it was terrible. Scott nodded and grabbed the laptop from beside him. He handed it to the countertenor, who then set it down on his own lap and pressed play. Mitch couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from turning upwards, despite his sadness. The trio looked as if they’d never had so much fun, pelting one another with food and squealing. Around halfway through, they began to set one another challenges, such as: who had the best aim (Scott), who could slide furthest across the floor (Kirstie) and who could have the most food thrown at them whilst still serving face (Mitch, obviously). Mitch had, by the end of the video, started to laugh, a large smile on his face.

“You like it?” Scott questioned, smiling slightly.

“Yeah. You were right – I would have fucked that up if I’d touched it,” the younger man attempted to joke, but Scott could see straight through the smile.

“No, you wouldn’t. Baby, please, stop doubting yourself. You’re amazing,” _Lies_ , Mitch thought as the tears started to form, “You’re talented,” _More lies_ , “And you’re gorgeous.”

“Stop lying. Stop lying!” Mitch yelled, the sudden raise in volume causing Scott to jump slightly, clearly started. The baritone watched his boyfriend with a shocked and hurt expression, before the hurt faded into concern.

“I’m not, baby. I promise you that I’m not. I wish – I wish I could’ve protected you from them... It still hurts you, doesn’t it?” the blonde whispered, cupping his cheek and using his thumb to wipe away a few of the countertenor’s tears. Mitch found that he was unable to speak, and instead he just stared at his boyfriend as if he were a deer caught in Scott-shaped headlights. He watched the way the taller man’s blue eyes filled with tears and he felt instantly guilt. Scott wasn’t supposed to know. Scott wasn’t supposed to know about any of it. Now there would be questions that he didn’t want to answer and he’d have to go through each and every single one of those painful memories. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell Scott what had been said, or what had been done. Mitch could see that his boyfriend did care and so he knew that it would break the blonde to hear it.

“I’m sorry,” the brunette finally whispered, tears pouring from his red-rimmed eyes. Scott pressed his lips to Mitch’s pair and pulled him close.

“I realized earlier, Mitchie, and I want you to know that I’m here for you, I care and I won’t hurt you,” Scott spoke softly into the younger man’s ear, “I won’t hurt you,” he repeated.

“I’m sorry,” Mitch said again. He was sorry that he couldn’t bring himself to believe what Scott was saying. He believed that Scott was there for him, and he knew that Scott cared. But he couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t hurt the smaller man. No one could promise that, because even when it has been promised, it’s always been broken. And Mitch believed that it always would be broken. It was the promise that no one was able to keep. Mitch would always end up hurt – but that was okay. Besides, he deserved it.


	22. Nightmare Mind

Scott watched the clock beside him, counting the seconds until it read 2AM. Mitch was curled up beside him, sound asleep and snoring lightly. Scott rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. He was trying his best not to let his fear show when he was around his boyfriend, but, as Mitch was safely away in a dream, the blonde was being attacked by terror that he couldn't suppress. He felt as though he was being strangled by his thoughts, the thoughts of every possibility that could unfold. Scott was fearful of losing Mitch, or of hurting him. He could see through the countertenor's facade, and he knew that they were both afraid, albeit for different reasons. But then again, were their fears really that different? Scott exhaled deeply and wiped his face with the palms of his hands.  
  
He glanced over at Mitch, and found himself unable to prevent himself from smiling slightly. The brunette was both the cause of his fear, and the only cure he could find. Mitch was like the most addictive, most potent drug in existence to the blonde, and, because of this, Scott wasn't willing to give him up. He couldn't see a way of getting through life without Mitch by his side.  
  
To say he was scared was an understatement, really. He was absolutely fucking terrified to the point that it hurt. He felt sick, he felt as though he had a pair of cold hands gripping his throat and squeezing tight. He was terrified of learning the true extent of Mitch's pain, but it was agony for him to remain unaware. He was terrified that Mitch would turn back to blades, but he couldn't stop the countertenor if he did, really, could he? He was terrified that Mitch really wasn't eating, but, deep down, he knew his suspicions were correct. He was terrified that Mitch would leave, or worse, Mitch would decide that life wasn't worth living any more. But, most of all, Scott was terrified of becoming another ex-boyfriend that hurt the brunette. He didn't want to be the reason for Mitch getting any worse.  
  
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Scott felt his eyes well up. He didn't know what to do, or who to tell. But he couldn't keep it to himself. Letting out a shaky breath, Scott rolled onto his side, so that he was facing Mitch and felt as though he had been stabbed straight through the heart. Mitch's face was twisted with pain, and after a few moments, he began to thrash wildly, whimpering. Paralyzed by fear, Scott stared, at his boyfriend his teary eyes wide. _What was he supposed to do? Did he grab the other man? Did he talk to him? How was he supposed to wake him up?_ Panicking now, Scott reached a shaking arm towards his boyfriend, but then withdrew it, snatching it away and clutching it to his chest.  
  
Scott didn't have to be asleep to have nightmares; watching Mitch suffer was his nightmare. It was his constant nightmare from which he could not awake. Scott found himself unable to breathe properly as he stared at the brunette, hyperventilating as his brain provided him with nonsense phrases and ideas that he could not comprehend. The room felt as if it was spinning, and Scott could still hear Mitch's pained cries. With tears streaming down his face, Scott managed to force himself to grab one of Mitch's arms, but he promptly let go, afraid that Mitch would think that he was trying to harm him.   
  
"Mitch, wake up," the blonde managed to force out through tears and panicked breaths. He lifted one of Mitch's hands and held it, kissed it, then rubbed soothing circles on it with his thumb. He used his other hand to stroke Mitch's now-tear drenched cheek as his own gasping slowed to shaky, shuddery breaths. As Scott began to calm, Mitch did too, and Scott pressed his lips to his boyfriend's wet cheek, "I love you," he whispered to the countertenor, who was still asleep.  
  
He rested his head back on his pillow, his hand still holding one of Mitch's smaller pair. He gently wiped away a few tears from both of their faces, and gazed at the sleeping Mitch. He had to help Mitch - he had to find a way to get Mitch to tell him the true extent of his pain. Scott genuinely wanted to punch each and every one single one of the men that had been cruel enough to inflict this pain on the kind countertenor. Mitch was a good person - sure, he was a bit socially awkward and he was a little more sensitive than most men, but he was kind, and he was incredibly patient. He definitely did not deserve whatever those men (if they could even call themselves that) had done to him. Scott was determined to help Mitch fight. He knew that he would literally do anything that Mitch asked of him.  
  
The younger man had become the baritone's oxygen, his water, his food. Mitch really was everything. That broken countertenor was the only thing that made Scott happy. The realization hit the older man hard, and he choked out a strangled sob. He was broken too. And the only way he could fix himself was to help Mitch.


	23. Only Terror

The morning flew in quickly for Mitch, and he found himself waking at just after eight. He could remember glimpses of a nightmare that he longed to forget, a nightmare that terrified him. Sighing, he glanced over at Scott, who was still asleep. He turned over to face the baritone and shifted closer, being careful not to wake the older man. As he moved closer, he noticed the tearstain the blonde's cheeks, and had to bite his bottom lip to stop himself from gasping. He hated knowing that someone as wonderful and talented and beautiful could have cried themselves to sleep. Mitch allowed himself to wonder what could have caused Scott's tears but regretted it instantly. The only flaw that Scott had was Mitch, so therefore it was the countertenor's fault. He fought back against his mind, blocking out as many of his thoughts as he possibly could, and sat up, deciding to go and get some coffee. He took a quick shower, washing off the layers of dirt he'd acquired from the previous day's cleaning session and threw on a t-shirt and jeans before making a grab for some boots. After giving his outfit a once over, he fixed his hair, grabbed his phone and his wallet.  
  
It was usually a quick walk, but Mitch decided to walk at a pace similar to that of a snail, giving him time to allow the fresh air to clear his head. Outside, away from all of his problems, he felt rejuvenated and untouchable as he retreated in to the relaxed side of his brain, which, just lately had been growing smaller, crushed by paranoia and self-hatred. At that moment, however, the sadness could not find him. He was surrounded by potential threats that could not hurt him. He was in a place where nothing mattered. He was lost in his head, lost in a fairy tale fantasy and he loved it. Dipping back into reality, Mitch realized that he was approaching Starbucks, and allowed his walking pace to quicken. After a ten minute wait, he left the coffee shop with two coffees, and tried to keep himself mentally present. He kept drifting, his head flying upwards towards the clouds, but he forced himself to remain aware of his surroundings. That was his main tactic back in high school, and he was terrified to rely so heavily on his imagination again - the last time he'd allowed himself to float away like a stray balloon, his fantasy life had almost consumed him completely. He couldn't allow himself to be lost like that.  
  
When he arrived back at the apartment, he went straight into the bedroom, and tiptoed over to his side of the room. He set both coffees on his nightstand and sat cross-legged on the bed after rearranging the pillows so that he could sit more comfortably. His blonde boyfriend was still asleep, so Mitch pulled out his phone and sent a text to Kirstie that read ‘ _Scott's been crying. Any idea what could be wrong?_ ' and tossed his phone from palm to palm as he waited for a reply. Ten minutes later, after he'd swallowed over half of his coffee, he rose from the bed and crept outside of the bedroom. Quietly closing the door behind him, he called his long haired friend, who answered surprisingly quickly.

"Mitch," Kirstie began, "you didn't call yesterday. Did you talk to him?" Mitch frowned, trying to work out what she meant.  
"Talk to-" he started, but then swiftly realized what the woman was asking, "I did and it's great, but..."  
"Wait - So are you together now?" Kirstie questioned, curiosity filling her voice.  
"Yeah, but he's sad," Mitch sighed, "I don't know what I've done wrong," his voice had quietened to a mere whisper.  
"It's not your fault, okay? Look, Jeremy's here right now, so I can't come over, but I'll be there this afternoon if you still need me."  
"O-okay," the countertenor murmured.  
"Call Ester or Avi or someone if you need someone, okay? But don't pretend to be stronger than you are, honey," she said, keeping a soothing tone to her voice, "I'll talk you later, okay? But stay strong - I don't like seeing you so miserable."  
"Bye, then, Kirst," Mitch muttered, exhaling deeply as he hung up. That had been the most pointless conversation he'd had in a while. He turned around and was about to walk towards the bedroom door when it opened, and Scott appeared, still half asleep.

"I wondered where you were," the blonde said, his speech slightly slurred from sleep.  
"I got you coffee... I don't know if you saw," Mitch responded, faking a small smile. He watched Scott smile back in response and he knew. He knew that Scott had forced that smile - his blue eyes showed pain and fear. No, more than that. It was pure terror. Mitch couldn't understand, couldn't comprehend. What was wrong with the baritone? Why was Scott so afraid?


	24. Home Sweet Home

The day wore on as Scott stared blankly at the television screen, the moving images failing to capture his attention. He’d claim his mind was elsewhere, but, really, it wasn’t anywhere. He’d stopped thinking, he’d shut himself off from the world. He couldn’t bear to find himself focussed on the fear that had been strangling him. He’d spent most of the day with Mitch at his side, the pair unknowingly imitating one another with the high amounts of accuracy. Two expressionless faces pretending to care about reality. However, the countertenor had slipped out to see some friends or something – Scott couldn’t really remember... or, rather, he hadn’t been listening when he’d been informed. Scott stretched out his strong limbs, and ten pushed himself to his feet. He noted Wyatt strutting along the floor and allowed himself to smile slightly.

“Hey, Wyatt,” he cooed as he knelt down. The Sphynx cat looked unimpressed, and walked away in the opposite direction to the tall blonde, “Fine, then,” the baritone said, chuckling quietly. He strolled into the kitchen and began to prepare himself some food. He’d just placed some ingredients in various places when he heard the door open and then close.

“I’m back!” Mitch called. He appeared at the doorway and raised an eyebrow at his boyfriend. “Were you planning on burning this place down?”

“No... why?”

“That rice is still in its packaging... You don’t cook rice like that,” Mitch said, failing to hold back a grin as he walked over to Scott, who had turned a deep shade of crimson.

“I-I wasn’t-“

“Sure you weren’t,” the brunette’s words were laced with a heavy dose of sarcasm. Scott’s blush somehow grew deeper.

“I haven’t really been paying attention all day.”“I noticed that when you tipped your coffee over yourself this morning,” the countertenor smiled. Scott managed a small smile back, and held his arms out. Mitch pressed his body against Scott’s and the pair wrapped their arms around each other. Scott pressed his face into the smaller man’s dark hair and nuzzled it softly.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” Mitch found himself saying, smiling as a blush crept its way onto his face.

“I’m sorry that I probably wasn’t the best company earlier...” the blonde suddenly blurted out, startling the younger man.

“It’s fine, but...” the pair pulled apart before Mitch continued, “we need to talk.”

“We do? About what?” Scott questioned, perplexed.

“Stuff. Let’s sit down,” Mitch sighed, turning around and heading towards the couch in the living room. The baritone followed, panic building up inside his mind, and beginning to try and suffocate him. His chest felt tight, he couldn’t breathe properly and he felt as though his legs could not possibly hold his weight. When the duo finally reached the couch, Scott fell onto it, relieved. The brunette sat down beside the older man, and sighed deeply before he spoke, “Kirstie told me that I should tell you how I feel...”

“What do you mean?”

“I never told you what they did to me,” Mitch was staring at his lap, fiddling awkwardly with his fingers as he spoke.

“You don’t have to, Mitch,” the baritone murmured, reaching a hand out to touch his boyfriend’s arm.

“If we’re going to make this relationship work, then I have no choice. We’ve got to talk to one another,” Mitch said before continuing, his voice a lot quieter. “They used to hurt me... a few beat me, two forced me into sex, but... but... I don’t... I can...” Mitch trailed off, tears rolling down his cheeks. Scott’s arms were around him in an instant, pulling the countertenor close and pressing light kisses into the brunette’s hair.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Scott whispered, but he knew it wasn’t.

“The words hurt me more, Scott,” Mitch’s quiet words were almost swallowed by the room, but they dead reach the blonde’s ears and he found himself involuntarily wincing. He didn’t want to know what Mitch had been told. He was too afraid. He was so scared. Everything scared him.

“I’ve got you, I’m here.”

“I know, baby, I know,” Mitch wrapped his arms around his boyfriend as he felt Scott’s teardrops fall onto the top of his head.

 “I won’t let them hurt you. Just tell me, and I’ll protect you,” Scott forced out through his tears. Mitch took a deep breath. This was it. He was going to confront him, well, somewhat, at least.

“I’ll do the same, but I need to know what’s wrong,” Scott froze and then began to quiver. Mitch found himself regretting his words almost instantly, wanting nothing more than to take them back.

“I’m scared,” the blonde murmured hesitantly after a few minutes without speech, the silence filled with the couple sobbing onto one another.

“Of what?”

“I don’t know,” Scott choked back a sob and Mitch pulled him closer.

“We’ll get through this, honey. We’ll get through,” Mitch’s words would have been reassuring if they hadn’t been so tainted by doubt. They were lost – they had been for so long, and they were finally realizing that they wanted to be able to bring each other home.


	25. Sweetest Kiss

Mitch was sitting on the couch, watching YouTube videos on his laptop with Scott. The blonde had an arm around the younger man's shoulders, and the pair were both laughing, wide grins on their lips.  
"Oh, my God! She's - God, she won't- Ew, what the fuck?" Mitch managed in between laughter and looks of disgust.  
"That's so gross," Scott said, chucking slighty, "I think we should find something else to watch."  
"You are so right," the brunette agreed, typing random words into the search bar.  
"You won't find a video like that," Scott grinned. Mitch rolled his eyes, but turned his head to press his lips against the other man's, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. After their earlier conversation, the pair had tried their best to lighten the mood, but had found themselves feeling a little better, even without the distraction. Opening up to Scott and sharing some of his past with the baritone had felt amazing. Sure, it was terrifying, but being able to talk about what he'd been through made him feel as if some of his chains had been shed. He was gradually freeing himself from his past. He didn't have to hide everything from the man be loved any more, and just that alone was a relief.

However, it didn't stop his mind, that was still working overtime to insult him. He still couldn't understand why the blonde wanted him, of all people. Scott was gorgeous - he could have anyone on the planet, and yet he'd chosen Mitch. Mitch couldn't stop himself from grinning. He was so lucky, and, oh, boy, did he know it. The taller man had noticed the way Mitch was staring into space, smiling to himself, and let out a quiet chuckle, "Mitch? What're you smiling at?"  
"Oh," Mitch was startled and a little flustered. He bit back a laugh as he blushed, "it's n-nothing."  
"Really?" Scott smirked. Mitch's blush deepened.  
"I just can't believe how lucky I am," Mitch whispered, leaning his head onto Scott's shoulder. The older man pulled the brunette closer to him and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.  
"I think you'll find that I'm the lucky one," Scott smiled, pressing his nose into the countertenor's brunette locks. Mitch somehow managed to turn even more red, and found himself unable to deny his boyfriend's words. He'd been left speechless and amazed. Did he really mean that much to Scott? He found himself smiling even more widely, giggling softly as he thought about Scott's words. No one had ever made him feel so... appreciated. Scott made him feel as if he mattered. He reached up and stroked the blonde's cheek, and Scott lifted his head from the top of Mitch's, which enabled the younger man to capture the baritone's in a swift movement. 

The kiss was slow and it was sweeter than any other kiss either man had experienced. It was so full of love, and promise and it was every word that neither man could say, everything they were holding back was being released in that kiss. Mitch twisted his body around at awkward angle to prevent the laptop from falling to the floor as he placed stroked Scott's cheek before moving his hand back a little further to hold his neck. Scott deepened kiss, running his tongue along his boyfriend's lip, politely asking for entrance. The request was promptly accepted, and, somehow, within the next few seconds, the pair had completely switched positions. Scott was on top of Mitch, and the laptop was somewhere on the floor. Neither man cared, both two wrapped up in hands and skin and lips and tongue. When they finally separated, pulling apart to come up for air, they shared a look of love that filled their damaged hearts with hope. 

Mitch shyly bit his bottom lip as Scott gazed down at him, the pair of them still breathing erratically, their breaths mingling and merging. Scott reached out and intertwined his fingers with Mitch's, smiling softly. Mitch grinned, open-mouthed and the smile reached his brown eyes. In that moment, there was no hurt, no pain. There was only Scott, and Scott's lips and Scott's hands and Scott's smile. Nothing else mattered. And from the sparkle in Scott's blue orbs, he could tell that Scott felt the same. Mitch leaned up pressed his lips to Scott's intoxicating pair, and Scott kissed him softly before pressing his face into the brunette's neck. Mitch could feel the baritone's breath against his skin, and it sent shivers running down his spine.

"I mean it. I love you," Mitch said breathlessly as Scott placed a gentle kiss to his boyfriend's neck.  
"And I meant it too. I love you," Scott whispered. Mitch was already addicted to this painkiller, this tall, blonde painkiller that had stolen his heart. For the first time in forever, Mitch could see himself in a healthy relationship. He didn't care about how the thoughts would probably return as soon as he was alone. He didn't care if it didn't last. He didn't care what happened if he got hurt. All that mattered was that moment, where he had Scott, and Scott had him. Because at that moment, he could truly say that he was somewhere close to feeling happy.


	26. The Frog's Fear

Scott’s blue eyes shot open at four AM, his body shaking as sweat covered his skin as unwanted images flooded his mind. His brain had been working in overdrive ever since Mitch had opened up to him less than eighteen hours before. He’d had the brunette’s lips as his distraction earlier, but now the younger man was curled up, lost in a dream and Scott was lost, drowning in a sea of terror. He was scared of all of the possible situations that Mitch had been in, and each and every one that he imagined was at least ten times worse than the previous. He knew he’d have to talk to someone – bottling it all up wasn’t going to get him anywhere – but he was afraid of that too. What if Mitch found out? Scott couldn’t afford to let the countertenor find out – that would hurt him. But so would hiding it from him. The blonde was willing to do anything to avoid hurting his boyfriend. He’d never felt so strongly about someone before, and that terrified him too. The more Scott allowed himself to think, the more scared he grew as he began to realize how many things he was afraid of. He, deep down, knew the majority of it was stupid and irrational. He _knew_ that. But being aware of it didn’t prevent him from being terrified. His thoughts continued racing for around another two hours, and, finally, a sobbing Scott passed out.

When he awoke, it was almost midday and Mitch’s side of the bed was empty. Feeling completely exhausted, Scott rolled onto his side and tried to force himself back to sleep again, alas to no avail. Time passed, leaving the baritone staring blankly at a wall and eventually Mitch wandered in. Scott turned to face the brunette and found himself subconsciously checking the younger man out. Mitch was looking especially gorgeous in all black.

“Ah, good, you’re awake. I’ve made you some food – just let me go get it,” Mitch smiled, pivoting on his heels and leaving. He reappeared less than a minute later with a tray full of various delicious looking foods, “for my frog,” he declared, setting the tray down onto the blonde’s lap.

“Frog?” Scott frowned, confused.

“Yeah, my frog. And maybe, if I kiss him, he’ll turn into a sweet prince,” Mitch mused, grinning before pressing his lips against his boyfriend’s, “Nope, still a frog.”

“Oh, you’re so romantic,” the baritone laughed, rolling his eyes. He wandered over to his side of the bed and climbed on, sitting as close as he could to the other singer.

“Go on and eat, then,” he urged, “I’ve spent all morning preparing this!”

“Fine, fine,” Scott smiled, beginning to sample each section of the food. There were meats, cheeses, some pancakes, a large bowl filled with a selection of sliced fruit, a few sauces and a muffin that was clearly from Starbucks. Scott could see the amount of effort that his boyfriend had made to put together this brunch and he was so grateful for it. It warmed his heart. The blonde looked over at Mitch and tried to smile, despite the fact that Scott had a mouthful of food.

“Ew,” Mitch laughed, “that’s gross!” Scott swallowed and then joined in, laughing along with the countertenor. He loved seeing the younger man looking so happy. It calmed him, and enabled him to stop worrying as much as he usually did. In fact, around Mitch, Scott felt at ease with everything. He felt as if nothing really mattered except the pair of them and their love for one another. Scott found himself grinning goofily, with the younger man giving him an amused look.

“Don’t say a word,” Scott said, feigning annoyance. All Mitch could do was burst out laughing and, within seconds, the blonde had started to chuckle too.

“Eat the food,” Mitch smiled after the two had finally settled down again.

“Only if you have some,” Scott nudged the tray slightly towards his boyfriend, whose face fell.

“No, I made it for you. Besides, I’m not hungry,” the countertenor said, shaking his head.

“I want you to have some, though.”

“I already ate.”

“Just a little bit of cheese?” Scott begged, using adorable puppy-dog eyes to force Mitch to give in. Exaggerating a deep sigh, Mitch took a small handful of shredded cheese and began to eat it slowly as the couple continued their conversation, discussing anything and everything that came to their minds. Scott enjoyed the food he had been given, almost let out a groan of disappointment when he swallowed the last mouthful. It had been perfect. Mitch was so kind and loving, as well as sweet and amusing. He really was the perfect boyfriend.

“I thought we could go hang out with Kirstie and the guys later,” Mitch suggested.

“That’s a great idea. Uh... do they know about us?”

“Kirstie definitely does, but I don’t know if the others do,” the countertenor shrugged. The pair discussed the possibility of announcing their relationship to their friends, but still hadn’t settled on a final decision when Scott declared that he was bored of sitting in bed. “I’ll leave you to get dressed then,” Mitch had said, gathering the tray and leaving with a cheeky wink.

It was only then, as he stood in the middle of his room with a t-shirt pulled halfway over his head that it occurred to him. He’d only seen Mitch take that one small amount of shredded cheese from that entire tray. Even if he had already eaten, the brunette would have taken more than just a few tiny pieces of cheese. Mitch loved cheese.

“Fuck,” Scott whispered to himself, the walls swallowing the quiet sound as he finished putting on the t-shirt. Rubbing his face with his hands, he sighed deeply. The fear began to claw at his mind again as he thought it over. Mitch still wasn’t eating. Scott slowly sat down on the edge of his bed, shaking. He had no idea what to do.


	27. Facing It

Mitch left the room, insults flying through his head. He was such an idiot. He was almost certain that Scott had probably noticed the lack of food that the brunette had eaten. Sighing, he placed the tray on the counter headed out into the living room. He smiled at the Sphynx cat that was curled up on the couch, and sat down beside him.

“I’ve fucked up again, Wyatt,” the countertenor whispered, but the cat did not stir. Mitch couldn’t understand what he was supposed to do in these situations. If he didn’t eat, Scott would worry, making Mitch a bad boyfriend. If he did eat, Scott wouldn’t want him because he would be too fat. If he didn’t do nice things, such as bringing Scott breakfast in bed, then Mitch would be a bad boyfriend. There was no way that he could win. It was an impossible battle that the countertenor would lose every single time and he hated it. He just wanted to be loved by Scott in the same way that he loved him. But Scott was a man and men get bored of their little fuck toys incredibly quickly. Mitch knew that he’d have to put out within the next week to keep the blonde interested, but he was willing to if it meant he could remain with Scott. He’d happily throw himself under a train to save the baritone’s life. Scott was the only reason he was still alive, and so he had to appreciate the other man and give in to each and every one of his desires, no matter how he felt about it.

Wanting to block out his thoughts, Mitch made a grab for the television remote, and turned on the machine. A familiar yellow laughing shape filled the screen, alone with the square’s adorably stupid star shaped pink friend, and the brunette found that he was almost instantly distracted. He reached out and petted the small cat that was sleeping beside him, which caused the hairless cat to shift, and then stretch. Wyatt looked up at one of his owners with a glare that appeared to be a warning, and then settled down again.

“Someone’s in a bad mood today,” Mitch muttered, swinging his feet up onto the couch. He pulled his phone from his pocket and decided to arrange that meeting with the rest of Pentatonix that he and Scott had discussed earlier. As he scrolled through his contacts, he smiled when he reached Kirstie’s name, and then pressed call.

“Hey, Kirstie.”

“Hey, Mitch. How’re you doing today?”

“Better, I think, thanks. But really, I just wanted to ask if you’re free later, or whenever, really,” Mitch said, beginning to ramble. He’d somehow forgotten about the last phone call that the pair had had together.

“I think I’m free later... Why?”

“Are Avi and Kevin free?”

“Are you going to tell them already?” Kirstie asked, a mischievous tone running through her pretty voice. Mitch chuckled slightly.

“We’re not sure, really, but we haven’t seen the guys for almost two weeks, so we figured it was about time we graced them with our presence again,” Mitch smiled, fiddling with his hair.

“Aren’t they lucky?” Kirstie laughed, “Do you want to check if they’re free, or should I?”

“I don’t mind. I can che-“

“Rhetorical question, honey. You’d probably invite them to your house to watch SpongeBob, or something,” Kirstie laughed. Mitch looked up at the TV in front of him and blushed, his cheeks turning a bright crimson. He was glad that the long haired couldn’t see the television screen.

“SpongeBob’s a great show!” Mitch protested, which only caused his friend to laugh louder.

“It is, but you and that _boyfriend_ of yours are way too obsessed,” Kirstie grinned, her laughter beginning to slow.

“So, Miss Maldonado, what do you propose we do tonight, if watching SpongeBob isn’t allowed?” Kirstie was laughing hysterically once again. Mitch frowned at his phone for a few seconds before he realized exactly why his friend was laughing, “Kirstie! You know we have to keep it PG-13!” he managed as he began to giggle.

“I think you should be saving those sorts of activities for Scott, eh?” Kirstie smirked. Mitch could imagine her winking as she said her words.

“I have every intention of doing just that.”

“Just doing Scott, eh?” the small woman chuckled. Mitch rolled his eyes.

“Maybe we could meet in a restaurant or something?” he suggested, awkwardly trying to change the subject.

“What do y- Oh! Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. I should probably check if the guys are free, then. I’ll text you to tell you if it’s happening,” she told the countertenor. The two friends said their goodbyes and ended the phone call. Mitch let out a deep breath and tossed the phone to his side. A cry of pain filled the room, and the next thing the brunette knew, he had a very angry looking cat standing on him, staring up into his eyes. If looks could kill, Mitch would definitely be dead. He reached out a hand to pet the cat, who purred as soon as he felt the countertenor’s contact. Mitch shook his head with amusement as Wyatt settled himself down on the brunette’s legs.

Switching his attention back to the screen in front of him, he laughed at Patrick’s stupidity as he waited for Kirstie to respond. Sometime during the wait, he’d fallen back into his dark thoughts again, dreaming of being left alone in the pouring rain, tear-soaked and rain drenched. He felt tears burn in his eyes as the nightmare-like thoughts spiralled out of control. He couldn’t let that happen – he’d never recover if Scott abandoned him. Scott’s fear-filled eyes began to plague Mitch’s thoughts. What if Scott wanted to break up with the brunette, but was refusing to because he didn’t want to hurt him? What if Mitch was making Scott unhappy? Mitch couldn’t bear to break up with him himself, however, so he knew that there was only one possible option for him: he had to put in more effort. He had to put all his effort into being the perfect boyfriend.

His phone kidnapped him from the trap of his negative thoughts, swiftly snatching him from the hell that was his head. He read the text and was glad to see that his friends were not busy that night, and so would be joining them at a restaurant. Mitch’s smile then fell from his face. A restaurant. That meant food. Fuck. Mitch was screwed.


	28. Flawlessly Prepared

Scott ran his wet fingers through his hair, dampening it before he styled it with product. He was standing, shirtless, in the bathroom, watching his reflection with a certain degree of caution. once he was reasonably happy with the position of his newly-styled blonde hair, he grabbed his black and white patterned shirt and pulled it on. He checked his reflection again before swiftly buttoning his shirt. He flashed his reflection a strained smile before heading back to his old room to select a snapback, as he had not moved them. He tried a few on, crushing his freshly styled hair, and each time checked his reflection in the nearest reflective surface. After finally settling on a black and white one with blue lettering, he fixed the small amount of his hair that was visible. Deciding that he looked at least semi-presentable, he made his way out of his old bedroom and headed to the living room, where Mitch was sitting, clearly lost in thought.

"Hey," Scott said quietly trying not to startle his boyfriend too much. Mitch was snatched from his trance by the baritone's voice, which caused him to jump slightly.

"Shit, Scott! You scared me!" Mitch chuckled awkwardly. Scott forced himself to laugh along with the brunette.

"Good. I wanted to," Scott found himself lying and instantly regretting it as his brain spiralled off into the darkness. The older man found himself imagining how his boyfriend would interpret his words - would Mitch take offense to this? Would Mitch be hurt by his words? So many questions that could not be answered flew around his head, and he was then pulled back to reality by the countertenor.

"You okay, Scott?"

"Yeah... Yeah, just thinking, is all," the taller man mumbled. Mitch shook his head and stood up before walking over to his boyfriend.

"I know when you're lying, honey," he whispered, reaching up and cupping the taller man's cheek, "I just want to know what's wrong."

"It's nothing, really. It's stupid," Scott's voice was quiet as he kept his eyes fixed to the floor. He didn't want to lie to the brunette, but he knew that neither of them could handle any confrontation at that moment. 

"If it's getting you down, then it isn't 'nothing', okay?" Mitch whispered, stroking the blonde's cheek lightly with his thumb before tipping Scott's head up to face him and pressing their lips together. "I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."

"I'm sorry," Scott managed to force out before a sob shot through his body and he collapsed against the smaller man, who somehow managed to stay upright to support the pair. 

"It's okay, it's okay. Don't cry, Scottie. I've got you," Mitch whispered as his boyfriend's body shook violently. "Breathe, baby, breathe." Scott continued to fight to breathe normally, his mind racing as his body quivered. He knew that if Mitch were to let go, he would fall to the floor. His eyes poured salty water onto Mitch's red and blue plaid shirt as the brunette held him tightly.

“I’m sorry,” the older man managed to choke out, looking a sorry sight as he clung onto his boyfriend with all of his strength. Still fighting to breathe properly, he focused on Mitch’s words as the shorter man continued to whisper consoling words in soothing, hushed tones. Scott felt so pathetic. He was supposed to be supporting Mitch. He was supposed to be making sure that Mitch was okay, but instead, he was crying all over the brunette like a useless idiot. Why did Mitch even love him anyway? He was a mess. As his frantic, panicked breaths began to fade into shuddery ones, he allowed himself to pull away from the countertenor. Still shaking slightly, Scott was unsteady on his feet, and Mitch reached an arm out to try to prevent his boyfriend from falling. Scott’s facial features were a portrait of pure guilt. He was going to end up hurting Mitch if he didn’t pull himself together, man up and stop worrying so much. He’d turned into a coward, and that was an undesirable, unattractive trait. Mitch would surely leave him if the brunette ever realized how weak and pathetic Scott really was.

“Scott, are you listening?”

“Sorry?” Scott murmured, glancing up at the brunette, who still had a grip on the baritone’s arm.

“I was asking what was going through your head. I’m worried, Scott, and I need to know you’re okay,” Mitch murmured, releasing his boyfriends arm, but stepping closer to hold him close. He reached up and gently wiped away the remnants of Scott’s tears before placing a kiss on his lips.

“I just keep thinking... I really need to stop doing that,” Scott tried to joke, but it only ended up with the pair sighed quietly and awkwardly shifting.

“I want you to talk to me,” Mitch whispered, holding Scott close to his body.

“I’ll try, but I won’t promise.”

“I’ll take that, then,” the countertenor sighed. Scott felt even guiltier within an instant. He wanted to be the one to take away Mitch’s pain, but instead he was somehow managing to add to it. The pair stood there, in the middle of their living room, holding one another for a while, until Scott spoke up, breaking the almost silence.

“Weren’t we going out?”

“Oh, shit, yeah. We’ve got... half an hour until we need to leave. Girl, I’ve got to go get ready – I can’t go out like this,” Mitch said, smiling slightly, “You, however... You look gorgeous.”

“I woke up like this,” Scott smiled. And it was a smile – a genuine one. He loved these moments where he and his boyfriend were just Scott and Mitch, the idiots, instead of Scott and Mitch – the fuck ups.

“Too right you did, honey,” Mitch smirked, pressing a quick kiss to Scott’s nose before turning around and pulling away from Scott. He then began to head towards his bedroom.

“By the way, Mitch, you’re flawless too,” the baritone called after his boyfriend. Scott smiled as Mitch blushed, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red, but the blonde’s brain told him that Mitch doubted his own appearance.  _All the more reason to treat him like the flawless queen he is_ , Scott thought.


	29. Too Much

When the pair arrived at the restaurant, all of their friends were already seated and waiting for them.

“Glad you could join us!” Kirstie giggled sarcastically.

“Seriously, this girl here spends so long on his hair!” Scott laughed, nudging Mitch slightly. He then pulled out a chair for the younger man and smiled.

“Oh, such a gentleman tonight!” Mitch smiled, a blush creeping into his cheeks. He then glanced around the table at his band mates, “So, how has everyone been?”

“I’ve been good,” Avi shrugged.

“I’ve been playing Cupid,” Kirstie teased. Scott ducked his head to stare at the table in an attempt to hide the blush that had danced onto his cheeks.

“I met someone,” Kevin said with a degree of nonchalance. The entire table burst out cheering.

“Who is she?” Scott asked excitedly.

“Spill, girl!” Mitch chimed in.

“Can we meet her?” Kirstie questioned.

“I didn’t even know this!” Avi was visibly shocked.

“Well, I’ve been seeing her for about a month now, and she’s really nice,” Kevin said, a wide grin on his face despite the interrogation. The questions continued for a while, and Kevin grew gradually more uncomfortable. Sensing this, Scott glanced at his boyfriend, and the pair shared a look that told them everything they could possibly need to know.

“I’m seeing someone too,” the blonde smiled. Kirstie began to smile like a possessed maniac.   

“I thought you said you were straight, Kevin?” Avi joked. All five members of Pentatonix found themselves laughing.

“So, go on – who is it?” Kevin asked.

“Well, I know that it probably won’t surprise you... and I know it’s a massive risk. But... But not being together was making us unhappy and...” Scott ran out of words to explain his point, and so instead made elaborate hand gestures that only succeeded in confusing the beat boxer and the bass. Kirstie was smiling to herself and Mitch was looking away, blushing furiously.

“A massive risk? Who have you been getting yourself involved with?” Avi chuckled. Scott rolled his eyes and took a deep breath in an attempt to regain some composure.

“It’s Mitch,” Scott murmured, staring at his hands, which were resting on the table in front of him. There was a moment of silence before Kevin and Avi exclaimed a phrase in unison.

“Finally!”

“Y-you don’t mind?” Mitch forced out. He was nervous about this entire situation, but, really, this was the easy part. The worst was still yet to come, and he knew it.

“Of course not!” the bass smiled, adjusting his beanie. They were all so calm about it. No one was surprised. It was almost as if they’d know the whole time.

“But what if we break up?” Mitch whispered, suddenly worried about the future of Pentatonix. If he and Scott were to break up, how would the group continue?

“You two not dating was more damaging, trust me,” Kevin joked, but there was a hint of seriousness in his tone. Mitch couldn’t bring himself to laugh, but he allowed himself to wonder what the beat boxer meant. Kirstie watched her younger friend with sad eyes. She somehow felt that they wouldn’t break up, but she also knew that Mitch had a very low self-esteem. Of course he’d doubt Scott, but only because he didn’t love himself the way that he should.

The conversation fluttered on around him, and Mitch just sat in silence, lost in thought. They’d all told him that they wouldn’t break up soon (Scott had even insisted that he’d never leave Mitch, which was sweet) but the brunette was not convinced.

When the time came to order food, Mitch felt himself growing increasingly more afraid. His palms were sweaty, and he couldn’t focus properly. He didn’t want to be doing this. He wanted to eat, the food looked so good. But he couldn’t. There was no way that he could even take a bite. He had to keep Scott. It was more than just their relationship riding on them staying together, Mitch realized. Their careers were resting on it too. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? What on earth could he do? He continued to panic, his brain working too fast for him to comprehend a single thing. His friends had noticed his distress, and kindly asked the waitress to give them a few minutes. Finally, however, after around ten minutes and passed, they managed to drag Mitch from his mind. The brunette looked at his friends with apologetic brown eyes, but his friends would not listen to the words he was trying to say.

“What’s wrong?” Scott asked, whispering in his boyfriend’s ear. Mitch could only shake his head in response, and the grimace on Scott’s face let Mitch know that he knew. He _knew_. There was no other explanation. Mitch began to feel nauseous. Scott would hate him now, surely.

“I need some air,” Mitch muttered, excusing himself from the table.

“What food do you want?” Kevin called, but was met with a glare from Scott. Mitch sent a quick text to Scott as soon as he had escaped from the building, letting the older man know that he’d try to eat a salad. How many calories were in that? Surely he could eat a little and they wouldn’t know and they’d all forget about it and then- Mitch leaned up against the wall with tears in his eyes as the evening breeze blew into his face. The bright lights around him blurred into bizarre fireflies as his eyes began to spill the liquid that they had been collecting. He knew that no one would come after him for a little while, and he wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. He was cold, and he felt so vulnerable. It reminded him of those nights where he was hurt by men that were supposed to love him. He let out a shaky breath as he realized that he didn’t feel like that anymore. Not with Scott, anyway. He felt safe. _Maybe_ , Mitch thought, _maybe they’re right; maybe Scott is different_.


	30. Breaking Down

Scott glanced awkwardly around the table at his friends, unable to explain why Mitch had left like that. He couldn't even explain why he'd glared at Kevin. He had no words to describe anything that was going through his head, so he moved his gaze around the table time after time until his phone buzzed, alerting him to a text. He let out a shaky sigh of relief as he noticed the text was from Mitch, but he did not find the text message itself calming at all.

"What's going on?" Kirstie asked, worry filling her voice. Scott looked up from his phone and shuffled awkwardly under the gaze of his three friends. He didn't know what to say; he couldn't just tell them to forget about it - there was no way that they could. But, it wasn't really Scott's secret to share. The blonde clenched his fists and took a deep breath. He had to tell them because he knew that the countertenor sure as hell wouldn't.

"Mitch hasn't been eating. I don't remember the last time I saw him eat more than a couple of bites of... Well, anything." Kirstie didn't look at all surprised, but Avi and Kevin, however, were picture perfect representations of shock.

"What do you mean?"  
"Are you sure?"  
"I'm sure," Scott confirmed with a sad sigh. He wanted to be unsure, he wanted to be able to say that he was kidding, that it was an elaborate joke, a dumb prank, but he couldn't. It was beginning to hit Scott hard, and he couldn't pretend any more. His boyfriend wasn't eating. His boyfriend most likely had an eating disorder. His boyfriend needed help. Scott hadn't realized that he was crying until he felt Kirstie's arm around him, rubbing his back and telling him that it was all going to be okay. Scott knew better however. How could everything be okay? Mitch wasn't eating, and if Mitch didn't eat then he'd die and if Mitch died then Scott would have nothing and - Scott was sobbing hard now, hyperventilating as his friends tried to calm him. The blonde tried to open his eyes, but all he could see were black spots and blurs as he took frantic gasps. He felt sick and the room was spinning. He just wanted it all to stop. He could faintly hear various voices surrounding him, andhe gradually became able to place them properly. Kirstie was still sitting next to him, Avi was crouched down beside him, and Kevin was standing behind the bass. As Scott's eyes dried a little and his sobs began to subside, he noticed the concern that was etched onto all of their faces. He hung his head down guiltily, staring into his lap and wishing to disappear. Those idiots were crowding around even though Mitch had disappeared. Why were they not helping the countertenor?

"Mitch!" Scott found himself shouting out, trying to stand up. Kirstie and Avi held him down, not allowing him to leave the chair.  
"I'll go," Kirstie said strongly, releasing her grip on the baritone's arm and leaving, heading off in the same direction that Mitch had disappeared in. Scott pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a shuddery breath.  
"Has that happened before?" Kevin asked quietly. Scott felt as if his voice had been ripped from his throat, and so, instead of answering the cellist with words, he nodded dumbly. The beat boxer and the bass shared a worried glance and Scott sighed. Everything was so fucked up, and there didn't seem to be a way to fix it.   
"Do you know why you've been breaking down like this?" Avi asked. Scott could hear from the bass's voice that he was very concerned for the blonde.  
"I think... I think it's Mitch," the baritone murmured, glaring holes into his lap. He didn't want Mitch to be reason for his distress, but, deep down, he knew that the countertenor was the cause. It wasn’t really Mitch’s fault though. It was complicated. He didn’t understand; he was just scared.

"What do you mean?" Avi frowned.  
"You're worried about him, aren't you? You've kept all of your fears locked up inside if your head and now you can't handle it anymore," Kevin whispered, walking over to the space that Kirstie had vacated, "You need to tell people, Scott. I don't care if it's one of us, or if it's a professional, just please, Scott, talk to someone. You're allowed to hurt to," the usually cheerful beat boxer was being so serious that it was almost scary. Avi seemed to be almost speechless, unsure of what to say to the baritone, but Scott could tell that he meant well.

"I'm all ears if you want to talk," the bass managed at last, gently patting the blonde's arm.  
"But what about Mitch? He could die if he keeps this up," Scott muttered. He didn’t want people worrying about him. If he knew that Mitch was okay, then he’d be fine.  
"We're here for the both of you, okay?" Kevin said, reassuring his friend. The three shared a brief group hug and the blonde felt as if a large weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Kirstie knew. Avi knew. Kevin knew. They were going to help both him and Mitch. For the first time in far too long, Scott felt truly relieved. He had other people around him that could help him to protect Mitch, and if the blonde knew that his boyfriend was safe, then surely things could start to improve for the both of them. He wiped away the last of the tears from his eyes and looked at his two friends before smiling slightly at them.

"Just help me keep him safe," he said quietly. The other men somehow understood exactly what the baritone was saying, and smiled back, nodding their heads. Everyone had known how Scott wanted to protect Mitch, but they'd never considered that it could have any effect on the blonde, until that moment. And now, they were all annoyed at themselves. How had they managed to completely ignore their friends' suffering? How had they let it slip by them?


	31. Running From It

When Kirstie found Mitch, he was huddled up on the floor, his arms wrapped around his legs as he pulled them close to his chest. He was shaking as he cried, and Kirstie felt her heart twist in pain as she knelt down beside him.

“Honey, I’m here now. It’s okay,” she whispered, reaching an arm out. He recoiled away from her touch with a small squeak but Kirstie tried again, wrapping a tight arm around her friend.

“I can’t do it, Kirst,” the fragile man murmured, his voice muffled as his forehead was resting on his knees.

“What can’t you do, honey?” Kirstie asked, remaining calm as she spoke. She knew how to handle Mitch when he felt hopeless.

“Tell him why.”

“What do you mean? ‘Why’ what?” she questioned, rubbing her friend’s arm comfortingly.

“Why I can’t eat,” Mitch mumbled. There. He’d said it. He wasn’t eating.

“Can you tell me?”

“I’m sorry,” Mitch managed to choke out before a large sob shot through his body. Kirstie pulled him closer to her and held him tightly as he cried onto her shoulder, mumbling incoherent phrases. Kirstie tried her best to calm the younger man – she whispered calming words to him and sung a few of his favorite songs but she knew that she was unable to do enough at that moment. She knew that Mitch needed to find the courage to open up before he could possibly make any progress. He would just get stuck in the same cycle that he’d trapped himself in. He needed a way out, but he was afraid to take that first step. Mitch glanced up at her, his eyes red and puffy, his cheeks tearstained, and Kirstie felt her heart shatter and break a thousand times over. She hated seeing her friends when they were upset – she hated knowing that they felt this way.

“You need to talk to someone,” she eventually said, sighing slightly. She already knew that the countertenor would refuse. She wasn’t stupid. But, she was. She must’ve been – Scott had been warning her for a while that he was concerned about the amount of food that Mitch was eating – or lack thereof – but she’d dismissed it as grief due to the break up. She’d heard Mitch call himself ‘fat’, but she hadn’t realized just how serious he was being. She hadn’t noticed how severe things had gotten until now, and she felt terrible for it. Anyone could see that Mitch needed help.

“I can’t,” the brunette man responded weakly, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He wanted to go back inside – it was freezing cold and he wasn’t wearing a jacket – but, at the same time, he really didn’t want to face the others. What would they say? Surely they’d laugh and ridicule him? They’ll all probably agree with his exes. He wasn’t good enough for Scott. Scott could do so much better than him. Besides, he was an ugly whore. Scott, however, Scott was a blonde angel, the very definition of perfection with his gorgeous jaw line, his sexy smiles and his beautiful personality. Mitch just found the blonde man so attractive that he could not bear to drag himself away, even though he was sure he would get hurt.

He knew that Scott cared greatly for him – that much was evident, but he wasn’t convinced that Scott would have the patience to wait for him. His exes had never been patient. They’d only make demands and break promises and beat his heart until it was black and blue. Mitch almost wanted to have been more affected by the violence that he had been subjected to as he knew that more people would listen; they’d pay attention. But instead, all he could do was sit there and whine about some names that he’d been called. How pathetic. No one would ever take him seriously. How could they? 

Mitch let out a deep, desperate sigh and gently pulled himself away from Kirstie. He glanced up at the sky above him and bit his lip.

“I can’t talk about it because no one will take me seriously,” he whispered to the sky above him. He heard shuffling from beside him and, when he glanced back down, he saw Kirstie kneeling in front of him, frowning.

“If it’s upsetting you, then of course people will take it seriously.”

“It doesn’t matter; it shouldn’t be bothering me as much as it does...” Mitch sighed. The long haired woman frowned.

“Different things affect different people in different ways.”

“I guess,” the countertenor shrugged.

“Have you told Scott about it?”

“I can’t. I’ll only hurt him more than I already have.”

“You haven’t hurt him, though,” Kirstie looked confused as she spoke.

“Not physically, no. But he’s scared, and he never used to be, so it must be my fault.”

“Why would it be your fault?”

“Because it always is,” Mitch said simply, staring up at the darkening sky again. Kirstie could see the fresh batch of tears that were forming in the countertenor’s brown eyes, and she pulled the younger man towards her so that she could hug him properly.

“It’s not your fault, okay?”

“I’m not good enough for Scott... I’ll only hurt him and then he’ll be a fuck up like me,” the brunette man blurted out. Kirstie’s eyes grew wide with shock as she realized how low his self-esteem was. She had no idea what to tell him.

“Of course you’re good enough – you’re talented, you’re good looking, you’re kind... You’re basically the perfect boyfriend,” Kirstie told him, but instantly regretted it as she saw the anger and sorrow overflow from her friend’s sore eyes.

“Why does everyone here keep fucking lying to me?” Mitch shouted, climbing to his feet. He was a little unsteady, but he swiftly turned away and headed down the street, away from Kirstie and away from the restaurant. He had no idea where he was going, or what he was doing, but he had to get away. He couldn’t take everyone’s constant lies any more. He just wanted them to tell him what he already knew. It would make it easier for him, surely. He was sick of them lying to his face about his skills and his appearance. He just wanted them to be honest for once.

Kirstie stood there, dumbfounded, as she watched the crying man run. After ten seconds of confusion, she headed back to her friends, her eyes filled with fearful tears. She knew what sort of things Mitch might try to do in situations like these and each and every one filled her with dread.


	32. Raining Eyes

When Kirstie arrived back at the table alone, panting for breath with panic in her eyes, the three men climbed to their feet instantly.

“Where is he?” Scott forced out as his breathing began to quicken.

“I don’t know, he just ran off,” Kirstie sighed as she caught her breath.

“Shit...” Scott whispered as he began to completely lose control of his breathing.

“Breathe, Scott,” Kevin had an arm around the baritone’s shoulders and was rubbing his arm gently. Avi walked towards the rest of the group, unsure of what to say.

“We need to find him,” Scott said, his eyes filling with tears. Mitch was alone, and it was dark. He could get hurt, or he could hurt himself. He could die out there. The blonde choked out a sob, and, within an instant, he had his three friends making promises to him – they’d find Mitch, and they’d help to get him back. But Scott didn’t want to listen. How could they make this kind of promise? They didn’t know what Mitch was thinking, or how Mitch was feeling. And if Mitch had been confronted, he’d obviously be in an awful mood, and he was out there alone. He was alone in a place where he could easily find something to injure himself, or worse – to kill himself.

Scott didn’t want to think of that as a possibility – he couldn’t see any possible way of continuing his own life if he didn’t have Mitch – but his brain was stuck on that one scene. His brain replayed that moment five years ago – the blood and the vomit and the pills across the bathroom floor, the countertenor slumped in the middle in an unconscious heap. He remembered opening the door and he remembered how he had, at first, believed Mitch to be dead. He’d been too scared to check, too fearful of any confirmation. All he had wanted was to join the smaller man. When he had noticed the slow rise and fall of the countertenor’s chest, he’d burst into tears of relief and made a promise to protect Mitch. He’d promised that he’d never hurt him, and that he’d keep him safe. And now, Mitch was getting worse because of him. Scott was slipping down and dragging Mitch down with him. Or was it the other way around? Scott didn’t know any more – he didn’t care. He just wanted Mitch.

He continued to cry as he opened his eyes once again and studied his surroundings. He was sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the legs and back of a chair with his three friends crouched down so that they were at his level. They all shared identical looks of concern and fear, and Scott found himself to be speechless.  What could he say to them? All he could see in his head were bad scenarios, bad situations, and he felt as though he would vomit. He brought a shaking hand up to cover his mouth, just in case, and dropped his gaze as low as he could. He didn’t want to see his friends’ faces. They were scared and it was his fault.

Suddenly, a rush of anger shot through his veins and he found himself glancing up, almost pulling muscles in his neck as he did so. Why the fucking hell were they still here? Why hadn’t they left? Why weren’t they looking for Mitch?

“Go find Mitch,” he choked out. His words carried none of the venom that he had tried to inject. Instead, it was a weak and desperate plea, a pitiful and pathetic attempt to protect his boyfriend.

“We’re not leaving without you, Scott,” Kirstie’s words were stern, and Scott knew instantly that, no matter how he felt, he could not argue. Letting out a sigh as the tears still poured from his baby blues, he nodded and tried to climb to his feet. The rush of his anger left him feeling slightly lightheaded, and he stumbled forward, grabbing at thin air as he stumbled. Luckily, his friends were able to grasp onto his legs before he fell completely, and helped him to steady himself before they themselves stood.

“You alright?” Avi asked, frowning. The bass kept a strong hand on Scott’s arm, worried that the blonde may fall at any time if he were to let go. The baritone himself seemed unsure as to whether he would be able to keep himself steady, and was silently grateful that his friends were literally ready to catch him when he fell. He could take some comfort in that, at least, but it did nothing to calm his nerves. Salty liquid was still dripping down his face, his feeble attempts to halt them doing nothing as they seemed to increase. He was still shaking slightly, and found himself having to grab onto both Kevin and Kirstie as they gradually made their way out of the restaurant and into the open space. The streets were full of people, and Scott could only see them as potential threats to Mitch’s wellbeing. Avi’s firm hand was still gripping Scott’s arm, and the bass’s focused face was decorated with fear and concern. The blonde was still glad, and concentrated on trying to walk without falling, even though his vision was blurred by his tears, and his mind was elsewhere. He found himself worrying about what other people would think of him if they saw him. They’d believe that he was weak and pathetic.

With each step they took, the baritone grew increasingly more worried about his boyfriend. He couldn’t see the countertenor anywhere, and found himself staring at the roads, hoping that he would not see his boyfriend slumped in the middle. He let out a sob and stood still as Kirstie wrapped her arms around him. At that moment, he believed that everyone had turned to look at him. He felt like a circus freak, the main attraction that everyone wanted to see. Kevin and Avi watched on with pity written over their faces, but Scott didn’t want pity – he wanted Mitch. And he couldn’t find Mitch anywhere.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” the blonde choked out, and the beat boxer and the bass shared a look of shock and confusion. Why would Scott think that Mitch was dead? There were plenty of people out – it was unlikely that Mitch would have been attacked. Kirstie, however, did not seem at all surprised by Scott’s panic-filled question, and simply held him tightly whilst promising that their younger, brunette friend was okay. The doubt was still flooding Scott’s eyes and dripping down his face as Avi and Kevin watched on, perplexed.

“He’ll be fine – he probably just wanted some time to think,” Kirstie whispered in an attempt to reassure the baritone. She herself had a look of uncertainty in her eyes when she glanced back at her other friends.

“You know what happened when he had time to think, Kirst!” Scott’s voice was suddenly louder as he stepped back from his long haired friend, who simply stared at the floor, “you don’t know what it was like to find him!”

A look of realization crossed Avi and Kevin’s face, and the four members stood there, sharing looks of terror as rain began to pour down on them from the sky.


	33. Lost and Lonely

Mitch had no idea where he was heading to – all he knew was that he had to keep running. He was panting, gasping for breath, feeling dizzy and exhausted, but he forced himself to keep on moving forward. His thoughts span and spiralled, chasing each other around in his head. All he could think about was how he shouldn’t trust humans. Humans were dirty, filthy liars that were only out to make themselves look better, or to earn money. They were greedy and selfish and didn’t deserve the opportunities that they made of themselves through their undesirable traits. They were, in fact, unaware of these traits, and lived their lives blissfully unaware of how disgusting they really were. They were all just deceitful and hateful and Mitch hated each and every single one. He gripped the flesh on the back of his right hand between a finger and a thumb and pinched hard, letting out a shuddery breath as his mind registered the pain.  He grabbed the skin again, this time harder as the tears slowly made their journey down his cheeks. The brunette knew that they would leave unsightly bruises, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was just like the rest of the humans. He only wanted to make himself into the bets person he could be. He wanted to be the thinnest, the most attractive, the one everyone wanted. He didn’t want to be alone. He hated being alone – it terrified him. Slowly, it dawned on him that he was out by himself, and it had grown dark. Suddenly filled with panic, he wiped his face and slowed his speed – he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, or else people would realize that he was vulnerable and they would take advantage of him because humans were disgusting pigs that were so full of hate and ignorance that they ended up hating themselves.

Mitch hated being human, he hated his human traits. He wanted to be able to love himself as he was without having to use money and fame to boost his confidence. He wanted to be able to be loved for who he was on the inside, not for who he was trying to be on the outside, but, at the same time, he wanted to be attractive. For a moment, he felt like an outsider looking in on his own life, and he realized that he had people that loved him because he was Mitch Grassi, and not because he was designer labels, skin and bones and perfect hair. But, within an instant, that mindset had faded, and was once again replaced with the belief that all humans were liars. They were lying. They were pretending like good actors in a show that the countertenor couldn’t recall auditioning for. His life had become a play – a piece of spontaneous improvisation on his part and everyone else around him had a script that they had memorized. Everyone else knew how events were supposed to unfold, but Mitch did not. Rain began to drip down from above, mingling with the brunette’s salty tears, and so the short man slipped into an alleyway and cowered at the side of it, trying to both shelter himself and hide. He didn’t want to be near the lying pigs. They would only take advantage of his weaknesses and hurt him.

He wanted to go back to his exes and hear them spit their words again. He just wanted to hear the truth again. He knew he was fat – he could see that just by looking at his reflection. He knew he was ugly, but he could begin to improve that by losing weight. He knew he couldn’t sing, so why did he bother? He knew he was only wanted for sex, and eventually, Scott would get bored of him, just like the rest had. And then the blonde would begin to hurt him – to beat him daily. _At least it would save me from doing it myself_ , Mitch thought bitterly, letting out a quiet, desperate laugh. He was used to being treated as a punching bag, he was used to being pinned to a bed and being fucked hard by drunken men that didn’t give a fuck if Mitch was in pain or not. He couldn’t understand why Scott appeared to want to do neither of these things.

It was then that a thought crossed Mitch’s mind. Scott did want these things, and that was why Scott was so afraid. The baritone clearly didn’t want anyone finding out about all of the things that he so desperately wanted to do to Mitch and so instead he broke down. It all made such perfect sense in Mitch’s mind. Instead of being terrified of the pain, Mitch was instead afraid of losing Scott. He’d happily do anything to keep Scott. His thoughts span around and around, rotating at a bizarre angle that sent them all flying until they collided with each other. Mitch had a headache, and he was shaking, but he wasn’t sure if that was from the rain that had now soaked him, or from his mind. He just wanted it all to stop. He hugged his legs to his chest and rested his forehead on his knees.

The bruises on his hand were beginning to show, but Mitch wanted to make another to try and quieten his thoughts. He was so afraid of being alone – he felt so lost without his friends, even if he couldn’t trust them. Or, at least, he couldn’t trust Scott. For some reason that Mitch couldn’t comprehend, he trusted Kirstie completely, and was fairly certain that he could at least partially trust Kevin and Avi. He knew that Kirstie had only been telling him what she thought he would want to hear – she meant well by it. Avi and Kevin had been so supportive earlier; they’d been so nice.

When Mitch began to think of Scott again, he let out a deep breath. He couldn’t understand whether he trusted him or not. He knew that Scott was scared, and, trying to give his boyfriend the benefit of the doubt, he tried to think of another reason for the blonde’s fear, but he didn’t know why on earth such a strong man could be scared. Maybe Scott didn’t trust Mitch either? The brunette was confused. He knew, however, that he was just as bad as every other human. He too had lied, he was obsessed with being attractive and he wanted more than he could have. He, just like the rest, was obsessed with excess and he knew it. He knew it... so maybe other humans were aware of their own traits too?

The countertenor found himself quickly growing more and more confused. His ideas were whirling around in his head; they were drowning in masses of grey storm clouds. He wanted to go home and curl up in Scott’s arms. He wanted to kiss Scott, to hold Scott. He wasn’t ready to be fucked by the blonde, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever be. He wanted Scott to make love to him, to treat him well, but he had to accept that that wasn’t a possibility. It would never happen because Mitch was nothing more than an untalented overweight slut. His stomach growled, alerting him to how hungry he really was, and he let out a sob that he’d been fighting back. He wanted to eat – he loved food – but he couldn’t. There was no way that eating was a possibility.

The rain poured down on the brunette’s back, but Mitch ignored it and delicately ran his fingers over the back of his right hand, caressing the bruises that were forming. He didn’t want to go back to this – he didn’t want to go back to hurting himself to make himself feel something other than sadness, but he’d found that he had run out of options. He was ruining everything. He was fucking up Pentatonix, he was fucking up his friendships, and, worst of all, he was fucking up Scott. He was doing something, somehow, that was upsetting Scott. The cold didn’t bother him at all as he cried, rain drops dancing over his neck, his clothing sticking to his skin.

He stayed in the alleyway, feeling that he’d be safer there than he would anywhere else – besides, he no longer had neither the strength nor the willpower to move, even though, deep down, he wanted to go home. He felt safe with Scott. Why wasn’t Scott with him? He was so puzzled, and absolutely nothing made sense to him. He hated humans, yet he loved them. This bizarre ambivalence only confused him further. Scott was, somehow, the only thing that made sense to him. Despite everything, despite his doubts, Scott was the only thing he felt that he needed. And that terrified him. He’d never felt this way about someone – he’d never felt so strongly. But, how could he know if the baritone felt the same when he couldn’t believe a word he said?

Mitch decided that he needed an explanation; he needed to know what was terrifying Scott. And he needed his friends to back the blonde up. Maybe, then, Mitch could trust his boyfriend. Because, really, all he wanted was to trust Scott. No, all he wanted was Scott.  


	34. Holding On

The silent journey through the dark and miserable streets continued on, the four unsure of what to say. Scott, steadier on his feet now, walked ahead of his friends, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, the rain mingling with the never-ending flood of tears. He could hear murmuring voices from behind him, and each time he picked out individual words, he found himself growing more scared.

“...suicidal... didn’t know... bathroom...”

“...Mitch... boyfriends... abuse... alone...”

“...scars... eating... was struggling...”

“...Scott...in love... killing himself.”

“Can you all just shut up?” Scott shouted, turning around to face his friends. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from his constant crying, and those blue orbs showed no anger, only pain. He couldn’t handle this. He couldn’t. He just wanted Mitch and he wanted it all to stop. He just wanted... He didn’t know anymore. He knew he wanted Mitch, but that was the only coherent thought that his mind contained.  The rest of his thoughts were nothing more than a spinning, swirling mess of anything and nothing and everything all at once, and Scott felt as though he would drown in the black hole that was his brain – unless, of course, he drowned in his tears first.

“We’re sorry, Scott,” Kirstie whispered, dragging Scott away from the mess inside of his head. Back in reality again, Scott’s brain registered the rain once again and Scott found himself to be cold. He shivered slightly, but didn’t mention it. The cold was the least of his worries.

“We were only curious,” Avi said quietly, walking towards the blonde and hugging him. Scott choked back a sob and fell apart again as his three friends tried their best to console him. They knew that this was only going to use up more time that they could spend hunting for Mitch, but, at the same time, they were concerned that Scott would run off too, and then they’d both be out alone. Unwilling to allow the even the slightest hint of a possibility of that scenario, Avi, Kevin and Kirstie, all of whom were crying their own tears, made sure to hold on to Scott with all of their strength – both physically and mentally. They couldn’t allow the baritone to wander off; he wasn’t thinking clearly and, even if Scott himself was unaware of it, he could be just as much of a danger to himself as Mitch currently was to himself. The severity of the situation hit Kirstie hard, and she brought a shaking hand to her eyes to mop up her tears. She knew some of the things Mitch had been through, and she knew that she had to make sure that Scott was aware. Even if it didn’t seem to be the most ideal of places, even if the situation was absolutely awful, she knew that she didn’t have a choice. The four slowly began to walk forward to an almost vacant street, and the long haired woman sighed quietly before glancing up at the three men.

“His exes called him fat and ugly. They told him he had no talent, and that he was only good for sex,” Avi gasped audibly as Kevin’s eyes widened in shock. Scott looked as if he was about to pass out, start vomiting and burst into tears all at the same time. He leaned back against the building behind him and let out a shuddery breath.

“I’ll fucking kill them,” Scott muttered into the air as he tipped his head back, allowing the rain to fall on his face. Kevin paid no attention to the use of the expletive, too afraid for Mitch to even consider complaining. This was all too much. So many men must have told Mitch so many lies for him to be such a mess.

“It explains why he isn’t eating... I – Look, I mean nothing by it, but have you two, uh,” Kirstie paused, blushing slightly, “Have you two had sex?” Scott looked down at the soprano. His eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open in pure shock. He shook his head frantically.

“N-no, why would-“

“They forced him into sex,” Kirstie told him. Scott remembered Mitch telling him this before, but he hadn’t been afraid of that, just angry, because he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to hurt the countertenor in that way.

“He thinks I’ll do the same?” Scott questioned quietly, the realization too much for him to handle. He slowly lowered himself onto the cold ground below him, crying harder. His friends once again shared worried glances and knelt before him, reaching hands out to comfort and to console. After around ten minutes of helping Scott to breathe at a steady rate again, the four singers continued with the journey, making their way through street after street as they searched frantically. It was getting incredibly late now, and it was still pouring with rain. Scott continued to break down at random intervals, and his three friends would have to calm him each time. Despite this, they kept on hunting frantically, shining their cell phones into darkened streets in attempts to find their younger friend. They were about to give up when they hears a quiet sob coming from a dark alleyway. Cautiously, they walked down into it, and noticed a figure curled up against a wall.

“Mitch?” Scott asked, his voice nothing more than a barely audible whisper. The figure glanced upwards, his cheeks as drenched as the rest of his body.

“I’m sorry,” the countertenor murmured, and Scott knelt down and hugged his boyfriend. He pressed a desperate kiss to his lips and wrapped his strong arms around the vulnerable, small man. Mitch just looked so weak and pitiful.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” the blonde told him as Mitch reached and hugged him. The position was awkward, but neither man wanted to let go. Their lips met again, sweeter this time, and full of love. After a few more kisses, Scott clambered to his feet and lifted his boyfriend up from the ground. He was scared when he first lifted the younger man’s small frame; the countertenor was so light that it was worrying. The five began to make their way back to Scott and Mitch’s apartment, and, somewhere along the way, Mitch had drifted off to sleep. The baritone just held onto his boyfriend tightly. He knew that they still had plenty of challenged ahead of them, and a lot of things to discuss, but as the rain pelted down on them, the blonde knew that he wasn’t going to let Mitch go again.


	35. Time to Talk

The cold morning crept in, and gradually collided with the afternoon. When Mitch finally awoke, it was around 2PM, and he had no idea how he’d found his way back to his bed. He could hear voices mingling together from the living room, and he clutched the blanket tighter to his small body, shivering from the cold. He pressed his head deeper into the pillow, trying to muffle the sounds of speech, yet he could still hear the soft mumbling. He sighed and pulled the blanket over his head. He felt like a small child again, playing in a fort. He was safe inside his cosy cocoon, and no one and nothing could hurt him. His brain provided him with vague memories of the night before, and he felt suddenly nauseous. They knew that he wasn’t eating. They all knew. But only Kirstie knew why, and he trusted her not to tell the rest of the group. She was nice – she wouldn’t break promises like that. Mitch quickly began to feel more afraid – what if she had told them? Oh, God, Scott would never love him if he knew the truth. Mitch felt his brown eyes fill with tears. He couldn’t lose Scott – the blonde was all he had. If Mitch didn’t have Scott, he’d be alone with no job and no home. Mitch knew that he could find a new way to earn money and he could find a new house, but his heart wouldn’t be in it. Home is where the heart is, and Mitch’s heart was most definitely with Scott. He was completely in love with the baritone, and there was nothing he could do, say, think or feel to get it to stop, which left him terrified. He felt as if he was just counting down the minutes until Scott got bored and ditched him for someone better and, let’s face it, everyone was better than the feminine countertenor. Anyone who said otherwise was clearly only lying to try to make Mitch feel better.

The bedroom door opened, and Scott walked in, snatching the brunette from his murky thoughts. The taller man walked over to the bed, and sat down beside his boyfriend. He pushed the blanket down, stripping the countertenor of his protection, and his face fell when he noticed Mitch’s tears.

“What’s wrong?” the baritone questioned quietly, brushing a few stray strands of hair from the brunette’s face. Mitch shut his eyes tightly, wishing that the older man would just disappear. He didn’t want to talk now. In fact, he didn’t ever want to talk. He just wanted to stay wrapped up in his bubble where he didn’t _have_ to think about what was wrong and what was hurting. He knew that he would think of it anyway, but at least there were other things he could think of in his cocoon. He opened his eyes slowly, but tried his best not to look directly at the man who was looking down on him. Out here in the real world, he felt exposed and vulnerable. He wasn’t ready to face any of this shit yet. He just wanted it all to go away. He didn’t know how he was supposed to explain that to Scott, though, who had worry in his baby blues, and concern etched onto his perfectly structured face. He stared up at his boyfriend dumbly as tear drops strolled slowly, lazily down his cheeks. He was so exhausted – even his tears were tired. He wanted a way out of this situation, and easy way to make everything okay. A small part of his brain suggested something that he’d vowed never to try again. Just the thought of how his friends would feel made the countertenor cry harder, his chest heaving as he gasped.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out as Scott pulled him upright and clutched the smaller man to his chest.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, baby, I just wish you’d talk to me,” Scott whispered into his boyfriend’s ear. Mitch could hear the tears in Scott’s voice, and he felt instantly guilty. Once again, he’d managed to upset the person that he was supposed to make happy. Surely he’d be beaten for that – there was only so much of Mitch’s bullshit that Scott would be able to take, right? The countertenor cried harder and tried to fight his way from the blonde’s grasp, but Scott was too strong. Weakened by the lack of food and the constant crying, Mitch gave in and gently rested his head on his boyfriend’s chest, hearing Scott’s racing heart. Scott was shaking slightly due to the fear that had gripped him and that only strengthened the brunette’s feelings of guilt. Mitch knew that he was a useless boyfriend, but Scott didn’t seem to realize, and that irritated Mitch. He knew that he couldn’t lose Scott – it would destroy him – but he also knew that he was destroying Scott. He didn’t want to be selfish – he wanted to put Scott out of his misery. He’d have to end this pitiful relationship, even though he didn’t want to, because Scott wouldn’t listen. Scott was blind to Mitch’s flaws, and Mitch’s flaws were going to crush them. At that moment, it suddenly hit him that Scott knew of Mitch’s flaws, but he didn’t care. All the baritone cared about was Mitch. Was that why Scott was so worried? Was Scott genuinely so worried about Mitch that he’d been breaking down due to it all? If that was the case, then why wasn’t Scott talking about it? Why wasn’t Scott asking for help, reaching out for support? Why was he keeping it all locked up inside if it was hurting him that much? Maybe he was keeping it a secret because he didn’t want to hurt Mitch. Suddenly, the brunette realized how much sense hid thoughts were making. Maybe he had been trying to judge Scott unfairly. It seemed that he did truly care. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, and they held one another for a moment, until another realization hit the countertenor.  

Mitch wasn’t asking for help. Mitch wasn’t reaching out for support. Mitch wasn’t talking. Mitch was keeping it all locked up inside even though it was hurting him so much. He was such a hypocrite. How the fuck could he expect Scott to be open when he was shutting himself off from the baritone?

“I’m sorry,” the brunette repeated, staring up at his boyfriend’s red rimmed eyes. He reached up and brushed away a few of Scott’s tears, “This time, we need to promise that we’ll do this together.”

“Do what?” Scott asked, frowning.

“Talk.”


	36. Trusting You

After their friends had left the apartment, Scott and Mitch were left sitting on their couch, petting their cat, which was squashed in between the pair, purring loudly. Occasionally, the two men let their fingers brush together, and glanced up at one another with small smiles and a slight blush on their cheeks.  They had no intention of talking just yet – neither of them wanted to face up to anything at that moment. They just wanted to spend the day together, having fun and enjoying each other’s company. It really was that simple for them. They were completely content with spending the rest of the day relaxing with Wyatt like a cute little family. Scott grinned at the thought – he could imagine himself having a real family with his boyfriend. He blushed hard, his cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson, and he stared into his lap, hoping that Mitch wouldn’t notice. Of course, it was just Scott’s luck that the countertenor caught sight of Scott staring at his denim jeans and asked him if he was okay. The blonde was unsure of how to respond coherently, embarrassed by his thoughts. He knew it was far too soon to be thinking about things like that, especially with situations as they were. He just wanted a way of proving to Mitch that he was serious about it all. Finally regaining the ability to speak, Scott mumbled into his lap.

“I’m being dumb,” his shy words carried none of his usual confidence. Mitch had an innate ability to strip Scott down to the rawest, most deeply hidden aspects of his personality, and it made the blonde feel uncomfortable. Shifting awkwardly under his boyfriends gaze, the baritone fiddled with his fingers as he waited for Mitch’s response. He felt afraid of what the brunette would say, and yet there appeared to be no logical reason for his fear. But, then again, Scott had found that he’d recently been almost constantly afraid of something stupid. He was so used to the feeling that it’d become somewhat strangely comforting. He couldn’t describe it – it was so bizarre.

His brain had started to work in overdrive again, and Scott found himself slipping out of reality, and being carried away in a wave of panic. It pulled him under rapidly, and he found himself fighting to breathe as he struggled to stay afloat. It was pulling him in as he swam against the tide, swallowing him to the very bottom and holding him down. No matter how hard he tried, he could not swim to the surface; the waves just washed over him again and again, quickly, constantly, and Scott felt as though he would surely drown. He was gasping for breath as he somehow managed to sink deeper still, and he felt that he was only seconds away from death. If he swallowed anymore water, it would surely be the end. He wasn’t sure how it appeared, but somewhere in the distance was a safety boat, and there were arms; a lifeguard. It was Mitch, dragging him to the surface, whispering words as he dragged him from his twisted mind.

“It’s okay, Scott, I’ve got you,” Mitch whispered as he held his shaking boyfriend as close to him as he could without disturbing the Sphynx cat that was still between the pair, playing the role of the sleeping barrier, the line that couldn’t truly be crossed. The blonde turned his head to face the countertenor, and Mitch had to stop himself from gasping at the older man’s bloodshot baby blues that were rimmed with red. Mitch raised a hand to gently wipe away some of Scott’s tears, his bottom lip quivering slightly at the sight that was in front of him.

He wanted to press his chewed lips against the baritone’s pair; he wanted to kiss away Scott’s pain and take it into his own body. He pulled Scott closer to him, and kissed the blonde’s cheek lightly, his lips barely brushing the skin. Scott found himself being brought, slowly but surely, back to a state where he could exist on reality once again, and let out a shuddery breath as his arms found their way around Mitch’s body. Sensing the brunette’s urge to kiss him, the baritone moved his head and ghosted his lips over Mitch’s, who promptly captured the willing lips with a devilish grin. Their mouths melted together as quiet moans escaped and hands roamed. Somewhere between the collision of their lips and the change of position, they’d pushed Wyatt to the floor, granting them the full space of the couch. Mitch was on top of Scott, but he had, after a few minutes, allowed his boyfriend to dominate the kiss. However, both men knew that the countertenor still needed some form of control. Mitch didn’t want to be underneath someone that had full control of him – he didn’t like how that felt. It was a terrifying thought for him. He appreciated how Scott had known this, even without being told of it. He appreciated how Scott cared, and how Scott was tender and yet so passionate. The brunette could feel the love that the baritone felt for him, and it made him feel complete. It was a strange feeling, one that the younger man wasn’t used to, but, despite that, it was nice. In fact, it was perfect. Their lips, their mouths, their tongues – it all fitted together so perfectly.

When they broke apart, Scott found himself smiling up at the shorter man, gazing up into his pools of brown, amazed by the way they shone with excitement yet they were glazed with lust.  The blonde reached a shaking hand up to stroke his boyfriend’s cheek.

“Thank you,” he whispered, pressing his lips briefly against the brunette’s.

“You’ve nothing to thank me for,” Mitch replied, looking down at Scott’s flushed face. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have a man like the baritone that he had underneath him.

“I have everything to thank you for,” Scott said sincerely, “You mean the world to me, Mitch. I promise that I’ll never hurt you, I’ll never leave you, I’ll never say anything that will upset you and I’ll make sure that you’re happy, because, without you, I don’t know where I’d be... or who I’d be.” There were tears in both men’s eyes as their lips met again in a brief, yet meaningful kiss.

“I trust you, Scott. I trust you because you’re my world,” Mitch murmured. He was amazed by his own thoughts – for the first time in forever, he truly trusted Scott with every inch of his body. He didn’t feel ashamed of himself, he didn’t feel damaged. He felt appreciated and respected and he knew that, no matter what, he was going to fight whatever it was that was scaring Scott.


	37. Freeing Chained Monsters

“Ryan should be here in an hour – what’re we doing this week?” Scott asked, strolling into the living room. He’d clearly just stepped out of the shower – his blonde hair was wet and in need of styling. He was wearing a white tank top and a pair of black shorts – something that looked simple, yet still suited him perfectly. Mitch was perched on the couch, phone in his hand, scrolling through Twitter. The television was showing the antics of everyone’s favourite underwater water duo, who were walking through Bikini Bottom. 

“No idea – we could do another Q and A if you want,” Mitch suggested, not looking up from his phone. The brunette was completely engrossed in the small screen, captivated by the meaningless, yet amusing words and thoughts of other human beings that lived somewhere else on this large, rotating planet. Most of these people he would never meet, but he enjoyed reading what they had to say nonetheless. It gave him something to do that wasn’t staring at the television screen twenty-four-seven. Mitch was feeling surprisingly relaxed, but there was this feeling looming over him that was almost unbearable. He felt as though there was a small flame inside off him, burning away, that would surely soon explode into a destructive fire that would corrupt and kill everything in its path. Mitch felt like he was a trapped monster that was fighting to suppress its freakish tendencies and every time he was truly alone, the monster would take over and engulf him. Sighing, and glancing up at his attractive boyfriend, he switched Twitter accounts and waved the mobile device at Scott, “Shall I tweet it?”

“Another one? Eh, go on then. There’s nothing else we can do right now,” Scott shrugged, plopping himself down next to the countertenor, who was tapping his phone’s screen.  
“Done,” the brunette declared as he switched Twitter accounts once again to retweet what he had previously posted. Scott took his own phone from the coffee table and copied Mitch, broadcasting the Superfruit tweet to his own followers.   
“Fifty five minutes, so... We should probably go through the questions in around half an hour,” the baritone said as he glanced up at the television. Mitch shuffled closer to the older man and rested his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder.  
“Sounds like a plan.”

“You look so cute like that,” Scott whispered, wrapping an arm around the brunette as he smiled. Mitch nuzzled his face into Scott’s shoulder and let out a sigh. This was one of the few times when the countertenor felt truly at peace with the world. Although there was still a certain degree of doubt in his mind as to whether he could fully trust the blonde, he’d decided to ignore that feeling and fight through it because he knew that their relationship depended on it. He could see himself growing old with the taller man, and, although that scared him more than he could possibly explain, it also calmed him. It was soothing to imagine himself being with Scott for the rest of his life because he knew that when he was with Scott, everything was okay. All of those gears in his mind were in the correct places, moving at the right speeds to keep Mitch in a state where he could feel okay. Mitch wouldn’t use the term happy, because he still couldn’t comprehend ever feeling truly happy, but he had decided that feeling okay was the closest he could ever get to the unreachable goal, and so he had accepted it. He needed Scott to be able to feel sane, to be able to function like a typical human being. Without the baritone, Mitch was weak and pathetic. But with Scott, he felt as though he could achieve something, even if it was only a miniscule thing. Scott still hadn’t requested sex, he hadn’t insulted him, he hadn’t hit him – it was already more successful than any of Mitch’s previous relationships and he couldn’t help but feel glad. Glad and very, very relieved. He was conflicted and confused. If Scott did any of these things, Mitch knew he wouldn’t be able t get out this time due to how deep his feelings were and that left him terrified. As his brain started to spiral, and tear drops began to fall, Scott began to whisper soothing words into the brunette’s ear. Instantly snatched from the trap inside his mind, Mitch looked up at his boyfriend, who raised a gentle hand and wiped away his tears. The blonde held Mitch close, allowing the countertenor to cry out the last of his thoughts, and the younger man quickly felt the suffering fade and shrink away to the corner of his brain. It was still there, but it was less significant now. It wasn’t the main focus, and so Mitch felt free again. His boyfriend had, once again, broken the shackles and released him from his chains.

“Thank you,” the brunette’s quiet words left his lips and he gently pulled himself back from the older man. Scott looked on with concern in his blue eyes, and, once again, that familiar pang of guilt shot through Mitch’s chest. Mitch glanced down at his lap, but his chin was instantly lifted by his boyfriend’s large, but loving hands. 

“You’ve nothing to thank me for, Mitchie. I love you, okay?” Scott said, looking straight into Mitch’s eyes before he pressed his lips to the countertenor’s forehead. Mitch blushed slightly, a little taken aback by the blonde’s actions. None of his exes had ever been so kind to him. He’s been kind to them, but he’d never received the same care and affection in return. Instead, he’d received bruises and hurtful words that would chase around in his head and- Mitch took a deep breath and watched his boyfriend’s concerned eyes, knowing that he couldn’t allow himself to fall back into the decay of his brain.

“I love you, Scott,” he told the baritone, who softly kissed the younger man. They stole several kisses, each one gentle and a little more meaningful that the previous, until they were snatched from the pleasure of each other’s lips by the door. The two men shared a look of horror when they realized that they still hadn’t picked out questions for their video, and then burst out laughing. Mitch stood up, as Scott was shaking his head in amusement, and went to let their friend in before the three of them sat down and discussed the new video. After selecting the comments, they turned on the cameras and Scott and Mitch filmed their video, smiling and joking with each other as they usually would. Neither man faked a smile, neither man pretended to be okay. In that moment, as they held onto each other, laughing, both men were genuinely happy. In that moment, because they were together, they felt free.


	38. Lost in the Late Night

Scott stared up at the ceiling, the blankets draped over his body as tears lined his cheeks. The late night had only just begun, and the baritone was already drowning in its effects. His thoughts were never ending spirals that would swing and spin until Scott felt too nauseous to function, and then he’d finally be granted that one wish – to sleep. At least, that’s what he was hoping for, because he wasn’t sure how much worse he could get without making a sound. He didn’t want to wake Mitch up. He was too afraid to glance over at the younger man that he had presumed was asleep, and so, he instead kept himself busy, imagining blurred patterns on the ceiling above him.

His multiple thoughts were gradually blurring into a mess of nothing and everything and Scott felt as though his brain would burst. He couldn’t escape from it; it was pinning him down and tying him up. It had chased after him for so long. _They are only memories,_ he tried to remind himself, but it was so pointless because he was aware of that. He was terrified of reliving those memories. He didn’t want to be put through it all again. The very thought of losing Mitch was enough to send his mind into overdrive, but the thought of being the one to find him was somehow worse. If Mitch tried to end his own life again, Scott would die. It didn’t matter if Mitch was successful. It didn’t matter if Mitch somehow pulled through because Scott couldn’t live with seeing the same scene twice. It was like that one scene from a movie that sets your skin crawling. It was the one scene that Scott relived every single day and he hated it. The idea of reliving it terrified him more than he could comprehend, but, as each day flew on by, he began to realize that it just might happen again.

Scott screwed his eyes shut and focused on _inhale, exhale_ over and over to try and calm him, but the alarm bells in the back of his mind were still ringing. He felt sick as his limbs began to shake. _Not now_ , he begged himself, but the panic had taken over. The incomprehensible and the obvious and easily-understood shared a border that had started to overlap. The room he was in felt more like a prison – his bed an electric chair. His brain was a kaleidoscope in black and white, abstract sadness under muted tones that swallowed all color along with all signs of life. Life was being sucked out of the blonde and being scattered across the room at an alarming pace, dizzying speeds and dizzying heights as the blurred border grew closer. He wanted to reach for the surface and pull himself free but the ropes would not allow him such an opportunity and instead dragged him back down again. Time wore on, slow, fast, soft, hard, fading and disappearing along with rapid breaths and pointless thoughts. The blonde finally made his escape, exhausted, worn down and terrified.

Despite how weary he felt, his tired brain decided to continue to torture the baritone. He remembered the hundred of red lines that adorned Mitch’s thighs, the lies the countertenor told and the way that everyone around him was so oblivious to the struggle. He could recall how he’d tried to tell Kirstie, and instead, had himself ended up spending the night in hospital under observation. They’d told him it was a one-off – that it probably wouldn’t happen again. They told him that he’d never feel that distress again, that it was probably just the shock of finding Mitch, and that his brain was trying to process it all. They’d all lied to him. He’d never told his parents, he’d never told anyone, really – except for the few times on tour when Kirstie had seen him. Scott always made sure to keep away from Mitch though. It was only recently that the brunette had been able to witness Scott falling apart, and it made the blonde feel even worse. He hated that Mitch was trying to help because it made it harder for the baritone. He didn’t want his boyfriend’s support because he felt as though he should be the one supporting the countertenor, not the other way around. Scott ran a hand through his hair, smoothing down the blonde locks before rubbing his face in a pitiful attempt to remove a few of the tears.

Scott was grateful that Mitch was asleep, yet he wished that he wasn’t. He knew that, when left alone with his brain, he would always end up panicking. He’d known for years that losing Mitch was the main trigger, the main cause, but how on earth could he explain that to the countertenor without upsetting him? He loved Mitch, and he wanted them to be together forever, but he also knew that they both had so many issues that needed to be resolved. Sighing, Scott closed his eyes and tried to find sleep again. After ten minutes of staring into the backs of his eyelids, the blonde gave up and allowed those baby blues the freedom to see again – even if he could only make out dark shadows in the dark room. Scott wanted to get up and walk around, but he knew that he’d never forgive himself if he woke his boyfriend up, so, instead, he continued his staring match with the ceiling.

Scott hated these moments where he couldn’t lie to himself, these moments where he was forced to accept why he felt this way. But, at the bottom of his heart, he found that he was grateful to have found Mitch that day because, even if they were damaged, they were still alive. Mitch had been home alone and no one else would have come to check on him; if Scott hadn’t found Mitch unconscious, then someone else would have found him dead. The baritone definitely preferred having brunette alive – Scott knew that he would take any amount of pain and any amount of suffering if it meant he could keep Mitch alive.


	39. Midnight Search Party

****

Mitch was trying to find patterns in the blank ceiling in a pitiful attempt to distract himself from himself. His brain wanted to point out all of his flaws and echo them through his head, but all he wanted to do was sleep. Just staying awake for an entire day took so much effort and energy out of the countertenor and left him feeling so exhausted, but he still couldn’t sleep. It was utterly ridiculous and he found it so frustrating.

He wanted to feel happy, to feel safe – really, he did – but it seemed like an impossibility. The closest he could get to it was the foreign feeling that ran through him when he was with Scott – a feeling that, Mitch then realized, was probably happiness after all. That scared Mitch. It felt good to feel that way, but it also felt terrifying and strange. He wasn’t used to having boyfriends treat him nicely, and snuggle with him on the couch as they watched Spongebob. He was used to fists and forceful thrusts and large doses of pain followed by large doses of painkillers, and a lot of makeup to cover the visible bruises. He almost wanted Scott to throw a fist at his face and scream expletives at him because he knew how that felt, and he needed something familiar. Scott was familiar, but everything else was so new and Mitch wasn’t too sure that he wanted to experience it. _Is this what it’s like to be in a normal relationship?_ he asked himself, and another part of his brain promptly responded. _You’ll never know what a normal relationship is like. No one wants damaged goods,_ his brain then echoed those harsh words, and Mitch felt the tears sting. He wanted to be beautiful, he wanted to be the perfect man for Scott, but he could never be that. He had scars on his legs and his brain was a mess. _Who the fuck would want you? Scott’s only pretending to care; he’ll hurt you like the rest,_ his brain continued to batter the poor man, who just lay there with tears streaming down his cheeks. He remembered the bruises that were covering his hands and found himself wanting to add more, but he couldn’t. If he moved, he might accidently wake Scott up, and that would only make him feel worse about himself.

Mitch wanted to fully trust his boyfriend – he loved Scott and he literally owed his life to the blonde and, during the day, Mitch was close to being able to completely trust the baritone. However, when he was stuck with his thoughts as the late night drifted on, he could trust no one. He was alone and he hated being alone. He was a danger to himself when he was alone, but he was poison to other when he was around them. Mitch knew that there was a way out of this situation, but that stomach full of pills hadn’t killed him last time, and he knew that it must’ve been hard for his friends – especially Scott. _It’s your fault that he freaks out all the time. You wanted to kill yourself and instead you killed him,_ Mitch’s brain screamed out, and the fragile countertenor had to bite his lip hard to stop himself from letting out a scream. He wanted to cover his ears, but that wouldn’t stop his brain from hurling insults at him twenty-four-motherfucking-seven. Mitch just wanting some respite, but it seemed that he couldn’t even be given that. He wasn’t surprised, though. He was slowly sucking away at everyone else life around him because he was so lost. He wanted to look over at Scott. A part of his brain, a small, rational part, told him that Scott could find him, that Scott _would_ find him and that the tall blonde would bring him home. With Scott, Mitch felt as if he were home. But, even when they went to bed, Mitch was dragged back down into the deep dark depths of his obnoxious and pathetic brain and there was no escaping from the metal cage that was keeping him in. He felt trapped, he felt smothered. He also felt that Scott held the key.

As Mitch’s thoughts began to slip into how much he admired Scott, the sound of panicked breaths filled the room. Mitch was struck with a sudden paralysis, unable to move due to the fear that was now tying him down to the bed. Scott was hurting again, and Mitch didn’t know what to do. He stared, eyes wide, at the ceiling and hoped that Scott would be able to help himself, because Mitch wasn’t sure he’d be of any use again – fresh tears had start to form in his now-closed brown eyes, and his bottom lip was quivering. It was his fault. For once, something his brain was telling him was making some degree of sense, and that terrified him. Scott was broken because Mitch had scarred him. Mitch had freaked him out and now Scott couldn’t handle being around Mitch. But because he didn’t want to hurt Mitch, Scott was staying with the brunette and now Mitch’s head was starting to hurt from the thinking. It felt like a herd of stampeding elephants had made their way through his head multiple times. He opened his eyes, finally coming back to reality from his brain that had once again kidnapped him from an important situation, and was faced with silence.

Mitch could feel that Scott was still in the bed, but he wasn’t sure if that made his uneasiness fade at all. He didn’t want to make Scott unhappy. But, he knew he’d be unhappy without Scott. Fuck, could he even live without Scott? But... if he attempted again, what would happen to Scott? There were too many options and too many possibilities and all Mitch wanted was for his brain to shut the fuck up and allow him to get some sleep. He shifted carefully under the blankets, moving in a way that would make it seem as though he were asleep, and kept his hands in a position where he could easily pinch at the skin. Within a few minutes, he’d pinched his hands, and all the way up both wrists. He didn’t want to die. He really didn’t. He just wanted himself and Scott to be happy. 


	40. The Only Way

Scott stared blankly at his phone, time passing slowly around him as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt. He didn’t know what to do anymore. It was a little past ten AM, and he was absolutely exhausted. At any other time, he would have stayed in bed to rest, but he hadn’t considered that to be a possibility that day. He’d managed to steal about an hour of sleep, and had been rudely awakened by a nightmare. As soon as he’d come to, he turned to face Mitch and saw the younger man tossing and turning in his sleep. All of this, Scott knew, was fairly normal, but Scott had seen the bruises across Mitch’s arms. He had decided to go out and grab himself a coffee before getting back to the apartment and curling up on the couch. Now that he was there, he had no idea what he should do next. He didn’t want to be around Mitch. He was scared, and he was angry. He didn’t trust himself – he knew that if he was given the opportunity, he would confront the countertenor, and Scott knew that that wouldn’t help either of them. Letting out a sign, the blonde ran his hands through his hair and then left the apartment.

After driving around for an hour or so, he found himself outside of Avi and Kevin’s place. Unsure of how he ended up there, he sent the bass a text and, within a few minutes, Avi was standing next to Scott with a look of pure concern. The pair headed inside, and sat on the couch and began to talk.

“He doesn’t eat, he’s got bruises up his arms – Avi, how can I keep him safe when he’s hurting himself? How the fuck do I protect him from himself?” the baritone began, “He won’t listen to me, he thinks I’m going to hurt him and I don’t know what to do because I can’t lose him, I really can’t,” Scott rambled on, and Avi just sat there and listened. Within five minutes, Scott was a sobbing mess, and Avi was trying his best to comfort the blonde. The bass couldn’t help but to admire the way Scott was confessing his insecurities and fears, but, at the same time, he knew that the younger man had clearly been pushed to the edge. Avi knew that Scott cared about Mitch, and no, he could see that Scott cared too much. Scott had dedicated his life to keeping Mitch safe and, somewhere along the line, he’d become so obsessed with defending the countertenor that he’d forgotten how to function without the small brunette. Avi didn’t need to be told that Scott loved Mitch. That was clear just from the way Scott spoke.

“I think we need to get him into therapy,” a quiet voice from the edge of the room said. Kevin had heard most of the blonde’s words, and could understand Scott’s concern. The beatboxer made his way over to the other men and perched himself on the arm of the couch.

“He’ll never agree,” Scott managed to say as he tried to dry his blue eyes. His attempts were to no avail, however, as his eyes soon filled with liquid that dripped down his face.

“Perhaps we could convince him somehow?” Kevin suggested. Avi shook his head.

“Sorry – I’m with Scott on this one,” the bass said, tilting his head in the direction of the blonde as a way of indicating exactly whom he was agreeing with.

“There must be something we can do. If we don’t stage some sort of intervention, he will get worse,” Kevin’s words were blunt, and hit Scott like a harsh slap. The baritone let out a loud sob and covered his face. His body began to shake slightly, and Avi wrapped a tentative arm around his friend’s shoulder.

“It’ll be okay. Mitch will be okay,” the bass whispered in an attempt to reassure the younger man, who was crying loudly. The blonde managed to speak through heaving breaths, forcing out as many words as he could before the fear consumed him.

“He won’t. He’s stubborn – he’ll never listen to us and so he’ll end up dead. I wish he’d hurry up and do it so that I can put a stop to all of this.” Avi and Kevin shared identical looks of confusion, until Kevin’s face grew into one of realization and pure terror.

“You don’t mean that,” he managed to squeak out.

“I can’t live without him, but I can’t live with him when he’s like this,” Scott mumbled against the palms of his hands, which were still covering his now-red tear-streaked face.

“He’s not going to die, Scott. We won’t let him,” Avi said, but there was a hint of doubt in his deep voice. Mitch had attempted suicide before – he could easily try again. Avi took a deep breath as he continued to try and calm the quivering blonde. He couldn’t pick out the individual errors that had led to this situation anymore. All he knew was that it was a lot worse than he’d realized. A few hours later, once the tears had dried and the erratic breaths had slowed, Scott made his way back home. His friends had asked if they could speak to Mitch themselves, as they knew that the baritone was definitely not in the right state of mind to hear about any of it.

Kevin was sitting on his couch, and Avi was in the kitchen, hunting through the cupboards for his prey.

“There’s literally no food in here,” he grumbled.

“Order something then,” the beatboxer called back.

“Barbeque!” Avi declared, walking into the living room. After placing their order, the bass joined his friend on the couch.

“They’re worse than I thought,” Kevin sighed.

“Do you think Scott was being serious?”

“What do you mean?”

“If something happened to Mitch, would Scott really... You know...” Avi trailed off awkwardly.

“I wouldn’t like to say... Which is why we’re going to get them out of this rut.”

“How?”

“Make them talk.”


End file.
